


Miror Quaenam Sis Tam Bella

by orphan_account



Series: MQSTB [1]
Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Complete, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Love Triangles, Romance, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-11
Updated: 2011-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 74,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul stops Bella before she can jump off that cliff and ruin her life. Complications ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Paul Pulls Bella Back

**Author's Note:**

> Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. My thanks to Raven's twimom, ravenlovestwilight, and grrlinterrupted for pre-reading, and to JJTwi1ight, WolfGirlAtHeart, and BellaFlan for their mad beta skills.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=vphk6s)

  


_Banner courtesy of the talented sarahtomas_

 

**# # #**

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"Bella, don't do this. For me. Please." The voice was just a whisper, fading away with the wind in the trees.

"You won't stay with me any other way," I reminded Edward, standing poised on the cliff's edge. The black water churned below. I stopped, suddenly afraid, but then remembered that the sooner I jumped the sooner I could climb to the top again and hear his voice once more. I slipped off my shoes and inched closer, curling my toes around the rocks. Taking a deep breath, I leaned forward.

Pain.

My whole world was pain. It wasn't the sort of pain I'd expected, the pain that came from slapping against the surface tension of the water. It was a lot more specific, located mostly in my head. I wasn't wet, either, I was still on dry land. Something had shoved me sideways just as I'd been about to tumble off the edge. I opened my eyes—when had I closed them?—to see two furious brown eyes returning their gaze.

"You stupid shit," he ground out. "What the  _fuck_ were you thinking?"

"P-Paul?" I whimpered. "When did you—"

He was staring at me. He didn't say anything, but his jaw dropped open and a dazed look took over the angular face I'd previously only seen glaring through or past me in anger. I felt. . . hot. As hot as if someone had dipped me in a Jacuzzi. The chill from my damp clothes seemed to evaporate under his gaze—in fact, the clothes themselves might've disappeared too, as he raked me up and down with his eyes. An invisible luminescence seemed to accompany the heat; I could feel  _something_ radiating through me from head to toe.

"Why are you here?" I tried again.

"You moronic, selfish little leech fucker!" he roared, picking up where he'd left off. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. "What the hell did you think was going to happen down there? That water's so rough that even your precious fucking Jacob wouldn't try to jump today! Are you trying to kill yourself and make it look like an accident?"

"No-o-o," I tried to say, but my head flopping back and forth made it hard for me to talk. "Ow—oh—Paul, stop!"

He froze, and then drew in a shaking breath. His hands trembled as he gathered me up off the ground. For an instant so brief I might have imagined it, he held me against his bare torso, and then set me on my feet away from him with a thud. "If you weren't trying to kill yourself," he growled through gritted teeth, "then can I ask what the fuck you wanted to do? Is this why Jacob had me watch out for you today? Did you tell him you were going to try to win the Darwin award or something? Jesus, did screwing the tick suck out your brains too?"

"I didn't screw Edward!" I shrieked, shoving away the hand he'd left on my waist to steady me. "I told you before, asshole; you—don't—know— _anything_ about me!" The heat had vanished; in its place cold, dark despair burgeoned from the hole in my chest.

He flinched, but he still looked livid. "Who were you talking to?"

"Talking to?" I held my head between my hands, trying to press against the pain. "I. . . I wasn't talking to anyone."

"Don't fucking lie to me, goddammit," he gritted out, stepping into my space again. I backed away a step; he followed. "Who won't stay with you any other way?"

I felt tears well up in my eyes. My secret joy, my secret shame—one and the same thing, and Paul of all people had to be the one to out me. "That's none of your business."

He snorted his disgust. "Let me guess. The leech. You're talking to the fuckwad. I knew he was telepathic but that's some connection, babe."

I couldn't stop the sob that escaped my lips. "You idiot. I don't have a  _connection_  like that with him. His powers didn't work on me. I'm the only one they didn't work on. And anyway he couldn't talk back with his mind; he could only hear."

He stepped even closer. I defensively raised my hands to hold him off, but they came to rest on his hard-muscled stomach instead. I could feel his pulse racing under my touch. His chest heaved as he dragged air into his lungs. I'd scared him, I realized with a flash of intuition. He got mad when he got scared; that's all this was. I tried to back away one more time, but my rear hit up against a tree trunk. Cornered.

"If you weren't talking to him, then why did you say that?" he asked, leaning closer, one arm over my head resting on the tree behind me.

Ooh, he was so  _warm_. I'd been cold for months, a year, ever since I'd moved to Forks, and now warmth radiated from his big body, flooding me with comfort from head to toe. My hands didn't feel right where they were; I slid them down his front, then around his waist to pull him closer. No, wait. That wasn't what I wanted to do. I tried to pull away, but he grabbed the wrist closest to his free arm and held it against him, then tugged me nearer, moving up at the same time until I was pressed between his body and the tree. "I don't. . . know. . ." I murmured, dazed, and I spoke the truth. My heart began to pound; I realized with a distant sort of wonder that it had returned to its place. "Paul, you feel. . . I don't understand, but. . . I can breathe now for the first time in forever."

"Can you?" he asked, affecting disinterest, but I could tell he cared because he rested the palm of his hand just under my collarbone, feeling the air move in and out. More hot spirals pushed through my skin, into the center of my being. I felt like I'd been trapped in winter, and now spring had come with a brutal heat wave.

Paul reached down and clamped his hands on my thighs, under my butt, lifting me up. "So you and glitterboy never fucked, huh?"

"No," I said, taking advantage of our new eye-to-eye position to glare at him again. "Not that that's any of your business either."

"Now that's where you're wrong," he murmured. He turned his head sideways, staring at my mouth like he'd never seen a pair of lips before.

"Why am I wrong?" I could barely force the words out through the ball of fear and excitement in my throat. I wrapped my legs around his torso to steady myself.

"I should go. . ." he said, but then his mouth was on mine, devouring me. I squeaked in terror; I'd never experienced anything other than Edward's gentle, careful kisses, and Paul apparently didn't share Edward's belief in my fragility. He gripped my hips, digging grooves in my skin with his fingertips, and shoved his pelvis between my thighs. I could feel his penis fully erect, straining to get to me, and to my total surprise it felt  _right_ , exactly where it was. I rubbed myself against the hardness, moaning at the sudden vicious ache between my legs.

Paul was cursing, a steady stream of profanity that seemed to have no connection to his actions. He worked his way down my neck with his teeth, hard enough to leave marks, and ripped my shirt up over my head. I gasped and then moaned again at the shock of pleasure when we were skin to skin.

"No bra," he said against my collarbone.

"I didn't want to get it wet," I explained, panting as he hoisted me again and fastened his mouth on my nipple. "Oooh, God, oh, God, what the hell are you doing to me?"

"It's the other way around," he groaned around my breast. "Fuck, oh shit, holy shit. . ." He reached down and ripped my jeans and underwear straight off of my body, then unbuttoned his own shorts, letting them fall to the ground. I shivered as a blast of wind spattered me with water from the tree branches above us. Paul switched to the other side, suckling so hard I almost couldn't decide if it hurt too badly to be good, but then his fingers gently caressed the breast his mouth had abandoned and I let my head fall back. I clutched his hair, pushing myself into his kiss.

He moved one arm to the small of my back and held me still while the other hand traveled between us, slipping down to the folds between my legs. I cried out when he reached the small bundle of nerves at the top, stroking and rubbing and making me quiver with gratification. "You're better at this. . .than I am," I babbled, not even hearing the sense of the words till it was too late. He grinned, fierce and hot, and one of his fingers slipped inside me while his thumb kept working where it would do the most good. I dug my nails into his shoulders; he hissed at the pain but didn't stop his hand.

"Paul. . ." I groaned, as another finger slid up to join the first. "Paul, I don't. . . even. . . know you. . ."

He buried his face in the juncture of my neck and shoulder and nipped my skin; when his teeth closed around the muscle I went limp in submission. "Goddammit. . . I know. . .that . . " he breathed. "Shit, shit shit oh my holy fuck you're so fucking wet just give it to me give it to me  _now_ —"

"Okay," I gasped. I didn't even know what I was saying but I was out of my mind with lust. I had to have him, had to have something filling the yearning emptiness that was getting worse by the second.

He moved his hands away. I whimpered, "No!" when his fingers eased out, and he murmured to me, nonsense words meant to comfort and soothe, as he lay down on the ground and drew me with him. He was on his back; his penis looked positively painful as it throbbed between us.

"You're on top," he instructed, pulling my legs apart so that I straddled him.

"I don't know what to do," I whispered, meeting his hot-eyed gaze with desperation.

"Jesus, you're a fucking virgin?" he exclaimed.

I giggled, suddenly lightheaded with the ridiculousness of the situation. "I don't think that's possible."

"Come here," he said, and all urges to laugh fell away at the deep timbre of his voice. He held my head to his chest with one hand. With the other, he reached down and guided his penis to my opening, which by now felt like it was dripping. He rubbed the head into my softness; we both gasped again at the feeling. I anchored my nails into his skin; he grunted and pushed the tiniest way inside me. I cried out. My nails scratched until they drew blood. The tiny wounds healed over while I watched, as he gritted his teeth and angled his hips to push farther into me. When he got to the barrier of my virginity, I sobbed.

"You want this," he said.

I couldn't tell if he was asking or telling me, but, "Yes," I whimpered. "Yes. Yes. Please."

With one final thrust, he broke through. I sobbed again, a few tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes and dropping down on his chest. He murmured to me again, rubbing the back of my neck and my thighs while I trembled from head to toe. He didn't move, giving me time to adjust. I didn't know if that was possible. Paul. This was  _Paul_ inside me. How the hell had this happened?

"You're all right, you're okay," he whispered. His touch was unexpectedly gentle. The pain faded, and all of a sudden everything felt  _so_  good. Waves of heat and delight emanated from the point of our joining. It had been six months since I'd even come close to feeling this happy. "Isabella."

Nobody ever called me that. It had always seemed ridiculously fancy for someone as everyday as I, so I insisted on Bella. But coming from Paul's mouth, it sounded as if he were speaking of something indescribably indulgent, a thousand-dollar dessert or a Maserati or anything he'd ever longed for but dismissed as out of his league and far too costly. He spoke my name, and I knew exactly how he thought of me. I looked up; his eyes were so heavy-lidded they were almost closed, but I could see tenderness there.

"Isabella," he said again, then, dreamily, "You're so tight . . " He moved his hips, just barely.

"Paul. . ." I was so close, so close, this was so much better than anything I could do alone. I rotated my hips, pressing against his pubic bone. He sucked air in between his teeth and moved inside me more forcefully this time. The hand not on my head fastened on my ass and shoved it harder against him, pinning us together. I cried out and ground against him once, twice more, and then I was shaking uncontrollably and wailing while the single most powerful orgasm of my life blew through me like a hurricane, leaving me feeling as though I'd been flayed. Cursing so much I couldn't even understand the words, Paul held me by both hips and buried himself to the hilt inside me, coming almost as soon as I finished.

I collapsed on him, panting and weeping. My body twitched with aftershocks of ecstasy and emotion. His arms went around me, and then his hands began stroking me, from my head down to my thighs and up again. He was still hard inside me. I knew that wasn't supposed to stay that way; did werewolves keep it up forever or something because of their metabolisms?

"Come here," he said, and pulled me up to kiss his mouth. I curled my hands between us, letting him hold me steady as his tongue went deep inside, imitating what we'd just done. He sat up, effortlessly lifting me with him, and  _licked_ me, from my shoulder all the way up to my ear. I jerked a little in surprise; he grabbed my hair and held me still so he could do it again, and again—over and over until he'd covered my whole neck. It should have been disgusting. It should have felt degrading. It was neither. Slowly, with infinite care, he rolled us till I rested on my back in his arms. He was so much taller and stronger than I that he could keep me from touching the ground almost everywhere but my heels.

"More?" he asked, already moving inside me.

I kept my arms where they were, tucked in between us, letting him support me in his embrace. "Yes," I whispered. "Please." I didn't know what had just happened, but I did know I felt at home inside myself for the first time since my birthday; I couldn't bear to say goodbye to the sensation. He stroked steadily in and out; I concentrated on breathing, loving the fact that I could do so without effort. I barely noticed that I was getting more and more aroused, but finally he laid my head down and reached between us to touch at my most sensitive point. As soon as his fingers scraped across, I convulsed, falling over the edge and taking him with me.

He slipped out of me and down, kissing me again, but way more gently than he had before. His hands cradled my face; his thumbs rubbed my cheeks and cherished my jaw. He planted tiny kisses across my neck, onto my chin, my eyelids, the tip of my nose. It felt like a dream. How could violent Paul be so careful with me, the girl he despised? He pulled away to look into my eyes. I tried to read his expression and failed.

"Isabella," he said for the third time, caressing my hair out of my face.

I didn't correct him; when he said it, it sounded right. "Paul?" I raised one shaky hand to lay against his cheek. "What. . . what just happened?"

He stared at me, silent, and then asked, "How sore are you?"

I stretched under him. "Not bad, actually," I noted with surprise. "I feel. . . um, wow. I feel really good."

He sat up, utterly unconcerned with his nakedness, and pulled me up too. Together, we stood and brushed each other off. He reached to pull a dead bunch of pine needles from my hair. "You're a mess."

"So are you," I said, ducking to wipe off his knees with the palm of my hand. "That was really weird."

"Still feel like cliff-diving?" he asked. I gaped at him. "Not by yourself. With me. It might be the best way to clean up without anybody seeing us or wondering what happened—or, you know, smelling us. You can wear my shorts and your shirt after you get out. I'll just phase back to wolf form." When I hesitated, he looked down at the ground. "I know you really wanted to do it. I'll keep you safe." He raised his head again to pierce me with those brown eyes. "I promise."

I was trapped by his gaze, unable to look away. Finally, I managed to say, "Okay. I'll go with you."

"Come on." Paul grabbed the clothes in one hand, including the shredded remains of my pants and underwear, and held my hand with the other. We walked together to the cliff's edge and looked down into the tossing waves. "You sure about this?"

I looked up at him and knew, with unreasonable certainty, that I could trust him to protect me from anything that flew our way. He gave me a tentative smile that sat strangely on his formidable features. I smiled back. "I'm sure." I held his hand more tightly and looked down. "Let's go."

Together, we stepped off of the cliff.


	2. In Which Bella Has a Bit of a Breakdown

When we hit the water, the impact knocked Paul's hand away from mine. The shock of the cold against my skin made me scream, but of course it was inaudible. With the temperature change, there came a measure of sanity.

What had just happened?

I couldn't tell which way was up; the sun was so hidden by the clouds that there was no light to guide me, especially as deep as the drop had sent my body below the surface. Before I could panic, Paul's hand closed over my upper arm and yanked me in the right direction.

I broke through water into air and gasped, shaking my hair out of my eyes. Paul grinned at me. "Awesome, right?"

 _Awesome_ wasn't exactly the word I would have used;  _terrifying_ or  _freaky_ or  _stupidly dangerous_ seemed more appropriate, which of course was the reason I'd wanted to do it in the first place. It was rare to see Paul look so happy, though—he looked more than happy, he looked elated—and I didn't want to wipe the expression from his face, so I agreed, "Awesome." __

A massive wave crashed over our heads. When I surfaced again, the first thing I heard was howling.

Paul cast around in the water, looking every which way, frantically searching for something.

"What is it?" I demanded.

"I have to phase," he snapped out. "When I do, hang onto my fur and don't let go till we get to land, got it?"

"But what about—" I started to say. He shoved the clothes he still held into my hands.

"Don't ask questions, goddammit! There's no fucking time! Put these on, now!"

I pulled the shirt on over my head while he supported me, and then yanked the shorts on. I had to hold them up. "Paul, what—"

Before I could get another word out, he let go of me and swam back a few feet, then exploded into the giant silver wolf. I grabbed his fur, wrapping my free arm around his neck as far as it could stretch; he began to swim back to shore with supernatural speed. Behind us, more howls echoed across the waves. I turned my head to see what looked like a campfire traveling in our direction, cutting through the black water. It was such a bizarre image that it took me a moment to comprehend what it meant. When I did, my hand clutched convulsively in Paul's fur.

"Paul—that's—"

He snarled and, impossibly, swam even faster. After what seemed like an eternity, we reached the shore and I tumbled off onto the sand, shaking uncontrollably. Paul whined, sniffing me from head to toe. Hearing rhythmic thuds on the sand, I turned to see Jacob and Sam galloping through the surf. Victoria's hair was just a flash on the horizon, moving away from us.

The werewolves yelped at each other while I stood to the side and shuddered. They turned as one to look at me, and then they retreated into the tree line. I wondered if I should go after them, but before a minute elapsed Jacob came back out again, human this time, and as clothed as he ever got nowadays. Clutching Paul's shorts, I stumbled over the rocks and driftwood shards toward him. He covered a lot more ground, a lot more quickly, so I didn't have to go far before he caught me up in his arms. I relaxed into his embrace, finally feeling safe.

"Bells," he said in a shaky voice. "Thank God."

I hugged him back with my free arm. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just pissed that we had to let her go."

"I'm really sorry," I said guiltily. "If I hadn't jumped—"

"No, no, it wasn't because of you," he contradicted, pulling back to look at my face. "She doesn't have to breathe so Sam decided we should wait till she's back on dry land to finish her off." He put one hand on the top of my head, caressing my hair while I blinked up at him. "Cliff-diving, huh? I can't believe you didn't wait," he said with a teasing smile.

The words cut me to the bone.  _I can't believe you didn't wait._  He looked delighted to be with me, just like always. If I had moved on—I hadn't moved on, I'd never move on—it should have been with Jacob, who had re-assembled what was left of me along with the motorcycles. Not Paul. Not  _Paul_.

 _I can't believe you didn't wait._  He was bound to find out. __

A flash of heat tore down my spine from the base of my skull to the tip of my tailbone. I turned my head under Jacob's hand, but I already knew who I'd see: Paul, standing behind him in the trees, still in wolf form. Our gazes met; his eyes belonged to the same boy who'd held my hand as we jumped off the cliff. I took an involuntary step toward him. Jacob's hand slipped from my head down onto my back.

A voice that sounded a lot like my own whispered in my head:  _Mine._

"Good thing I told Paul to watch out for you, huh?" he chattered on, oblivious. "If you'd jumped off by yourself, who knows what would've happened."

"Yeah," I breathed. Paul edged away into the shadows. The heat illuminating my backbone vanished with him. I shivered with the sudden chill.

"How'd you end up with his shorts?" Jacob demanded, rubbing my arms up and down. "Damn, you're freezing."

"My pants got torn up by the rocks after we dove," I mumbled, aware of the weakness of the excuse. I hadn't expected to see Jake the instant I got to land; I wasn't prepared. When he didn't say anything or question the story, I looked up and really saw his eyes for the first time. They were tight with worry. "Hey, I'm okay. Promise."

"I know," he said absentmindedly, looking past me at nothing.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Jacob sighed. "Harry Clearwater's had a heart attack."

I gasped in horror. "No! Are you serious? Oh my God, poor Sue. . . Charlie is going to be so upset. Is Harry going to be okay?"

Jacob shook his head. "They aren't saying much. Sam's headed to the hospital now." He grabbed my free hand. "Come on; let's get you into some dry clothes."

We trudged back to his house; halfway there Jake asked, "What's wrong? Why are you walking like that?"

"I, um, I'm not used to swimming in such rough water," I improvised. Jeez, I was really a terrible liar; even I could hear the panicky lack of conviction in my voice. Good thing Jacob was so worried about Victoria and Harry. "My legs are really sore. Plus I'm barefoot."

"You're such a wuss." He shoved my shoulder a little.

"Shut up; just because the werewolf gene makes you look like a triathlete. . ." I winced involuntarily as I had to catch my balance on uneven ground.

Jacob stopped and grabbed my upper arm. "You sure you're okay? Do you want me to carry you?"

"I know you're just looking for a chance to take away more years," I teased. "If I let you carry me, next thing I know you'll be saying that makes me an infant."

That actually got a grin out of him. "It might end up backfiring on me; if you're that much of an old lady I'll have to add a couple decades." He wrapped his arm around me and kept me steady until we reached the house.

Once we got inside, I changed into the old gray sweats he threw at me and collapsed on the couch next to him. "This sucks."

"I know," he agreed, reaching for my hand again. Silence fell, but as usual it didn't bother me with him. I felt my eyelids droop.

"I'm so freaking tired," I managed to say.  _Tired because you just offered up your virginity to the local man-whore like it was a prize from one of those gumball machines at the grocery store,_ a small corner of my brain managed to jeer, but I shoved it down. No. I was just tired. That. Was. All. I was  _not_ going to think about that. It hadn't happened. It wasn't real.

The growing ache between my legs didn't want to let me believe that.

"Go to sleep." His thumb rubbed the back of my hand. "I'll stay right here."

Damn right he would; I could see his eyes closing too, and there was no way I would let him get up. There'd been too many sleepless nights chasing Victoria on my behalf. He leaned back; I rested my head on his shoulder. We fell asleep with our fingers intertwined and didn't wake up until Billy rolled through the front door, switching on the overhead light.

One look at his distraught face told me everything I needed to know. Shock made me dizzy; I threw my hand over my mouth. "Oh, no. Oh, no," I mumbled through my fingers.

Jacob crossed the room in a bound to kneel in front of his father and take his hand. "Dad? He's really—" Billy nodded; Sam came in and closed the door as Jacob lowered his face to Billy's knee and didn't move. Billy stroked Jacob's hair with his free hand.

"Sue's at the hospital; there's all sorts of details that need to be worked out for this sort of thing," Billy said finally. Of course, I realized. He'd been through all this before, with his wife. "Sam, go ahead and go back. We'll be fine, and they need you." Sam nodded, and stepped out without having said one word.

When Jacob lifted his head from Billy's knee, his eyes were too bright. I didn't know if I should look away or what, but he held out his hand as he rose so I hurried over to take it. "I'm going to get you home," he said, pulling me into a hug. "You need to go to sleep in your own bed."

I nodded; I couldn't disagree.

On the way home, I couldn't think of anything except how stupidly selfish I'd been on the edge of that cliff—Paul had been right about that. (Paul had been—no. No. I still wasn't thinking about that.) What if I'd leaped and gotten caught by Victoria? What if the water had pulled me down and I'd drowned? Charlie would have lost his best friend and his daughter all in one day. It would have destroyed him. Thank God for Paul. Thank God for Jacob ensuring Paul was there. I couldn't count on my best friend always being there, or sending proxies, to save me from myself, though. I was going to have to take steps to start dealing with my life in a better way.

Steps. Right. Good pep talk, Bella. Now all I had to do was come up with some sort of plan . .  or at least a  _first_ step.

Jacob pulled my truck up in front of my house and shut off the engine. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, a worry line appearing between his eyebrows. He put his arm around me, and then just as quickly removed it.

"What's wrong?" I asked. For him not to press an advantage was really unusual.

He smiled, but it looked tentative. "You've been awfully quiet all the way home. Was Paul mean to you? I didn't ask him to hang out with you; I just wanted him to keep an eye on you in case there was any. . . trouble."

I thought about my answer. Was Paul mean to me? After he got done telling me how stupid I was, he'd been perfectly nice, really. If screwing my brains out counted as nice. "He was okay. Does he have a girlfriend?"

"Sure," he snorted. "A new one every week."

I nodded and tried to breathe normally. The effort didn't turn out very well.

"Are you  _sure_  you're sure you're okay? You, um. . ." He sighed. "This is a weird werewolf thing—"

"Because usually it's just so normal—" I interjected.

Jake rolled his eyes and chuckled. "But you smell different." He leaned over and sniffed, close to the crook of my neck. I tensed, waiting for his next move.

When he sat back, Jacob's eyes were narrowed. "Bells?" he whispered. He swallowed, hard. "What. . . happened today?"

"I went cliff-diving with Paul," I said softly. It was true, as far as it went.

The hole in my chest burned and spread as we held each others' gazes.  _Not yet_ , I ordered it. I had a reckoning coming, but I'd deal with it alone.

"Okay. . ." he murmured. He lowered his face closer to my neck; I knew he could see the marks Paul had left behind, and hoped he'd assume it was from some accident in the dive. The air between us had turned thick with tension; I could barely drag it into my throat.

"I need to go in—I have to get ready for bed—" I tried again. For some reason I couldn't make my hand move to open the door.

"Okay, go ahead and go," he said easily, and just like that I could do what I wanted. I held out my hand for my keys; still staring at me, Jacob handed them over.

"See you tomorrow?" I asked, trying to sound normal, as I reached for the door handle.

"Yeah," he said, sounding nothing like my usual sunny Jacob. I gave him a questioning look as I swung the door closed. He got out and stood there, and for the first time ever I felt a quiver of nervousness with him looming over me, expressionless. "Go," he said again, and with a gasp and a hop I headed toward the front door, fumbling with the keys in my hand to find the right one. I finally managed to get the lock undone and turned back to Jacob, who stood at the bottom of the porch steps. He grabbed my hand and pulled me closer, lowering his face until our noses almost touched.

"Jake?" I whispered. He shifted his weight, invading my space even more with his shoulders. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure," he replied, and kissed me.

Okay,  _this_  was what was supposed to happen. This was what I'd wondered about—not so much about what it would be like, but what I would do if he tried. This was my chance to somehow atone a little bit for my idiocy with Paul, and to comfort Jake about Harry, and maybe even take that first "step" I'd been considering. I clasped my hands behind Jacob's neck and closed my eyes to concentrate.

Except, it wasn't at all like I'd imagined. I only felt. . . eager to please. I wanted to make Jacob happy far, far more than I wanted to kiss him, but if kissing him made him happy then I could do that, I would do that. . . Even if his lips felt wrong. Even if the only reason they felt wrong was because they were different from Paul's. Not because they felt different from . .

He pulled back, eyebrows furrowed. "Bells?"

"Yeah?" I asked. Hadn't he liked it?

He shook his head, still with that expression of puzzled concentration. "Nothing. I'm. . . I'm gonna go now, okay?"

"Okay," I said in bewilderment. This was so weird. He was supposed to be ecstatic, not. . . whatever the emotion was that I couldn't read. And since when could I not read Jacob of all people? He handed back my keys, backed away slowly, and then jogged into the woods without so much as a wave. Realizing that the door was still gaping open, I finally went in and locked the deadbolt behind me.

The hole in my chest writhed at the edges.  _Not yet,_  I ordered it again. My feet were on autopilot, carrying me up the stairs to the bedroom. I grabbed my pajamas and went into the bathroom, getting into the shower.

_Okay, now._

I gasped and bent at the waist, wrapping my arms around myself while the hot water flowed over me. My heart was gone again, as were my lungs, but I managed to wail anyway. The despairing sound echoed from the shower walls.

"No, no, no, no," I sobbed. My knees shook so badly that I sat on the bottom of the bathtub, still crying. The water ran in rivulets over my face and into my mouth. . . And I could still taste Paul.

After a minute, I forced my arms to unlock, stood up again, and put bath gel on my washcloth, lathering my body. The bubbles slid over bruises and welts—on my hips, where he'd gripped me, on my shoulders and breasts, where he'd bitten me, on the small of my back, where he'd pressed his hand against me. My shoulder blades burned and stung where the tree bark had scraped them raw. The soles of my feet ached like two wounds. When I washed between my legs, the cloth came away bloody, bright scarlet against the white. I sobbed again at the sight, proof of my insanity.

Why hadn't  _he_  warned me?

"Where were you on  _that_ one?" I demanded of his specter. "You tell me not to even get on a motorcycle, but you don't warn me about sex with  _Paul_?"

Silence. I'd never been angry with  _him_  before. I'd never even thought to feel that way. After all, it was my own fault that he'd left; I'd been too weak and human to hold the interest of such a fabulous being, and I'd always known it. Everything that was wrong with us was what was wrong with me. This was the last straw, though. The fact that he'd seen fit to warn me—or my hallucinations of his voice had seen fit to warn me—about jumping off a cliff by myself, but not about some random hook-up in the dirt with a friend of the sweet boy who'd been dangling after me for months now, flipped an internal switch.

I quaked from head to toe while the fury rose inside me like a flooded well. "What. The.  _Fuck!"_  I screamed finally. I picked up my shampoo bottle and threw it at the wall above the showerhead; the top popped off and sent gel flying everywhere. I sounded crazy, but I didn't care. After all, it was just more of the same: I'd been going mental since September. "If I end up pregnant I'm never going to forgive you,  _never_ , you were supposed to be here, you were supposed to be  _right here_ , you were supposed to be the one who did this with me, you  _son_ of a  _bitch_ , the least you could do, the least goddamn thing you could do, would have been to stop me from  _losing my motherfucking mind—_ "

I heard the words coming out of my mouth and started half-laughing, half-moaning between my teeth. Apparently I'd expanded my vocabulary while hanging out with the pack; I'd never cursed even half so much. "I hate you I hate you I hate you," I growled as I scrubbed every inch of my body, over and over again, scrubbing until even my sheet-white skin glowed rose with the combination of steam and friction, trying to wash off the evidence of my failures and failing, of course, because they were all under the surface. "I hate you I hate you  _I hate you_ —"

Abruptly, the strange rage ebbed entirely, leaving me frigid and trembling again, with the added bonus of now being scared of myself.

 _You sounded like Paul,_ my mind told me. As if I didn't know that. As if it wasn't the thing that freaked me out the most. __

Mechanically, I began to scrub the shower walls, rinsing off the shampoo, but I was so sick I could hardly lift my arms. Betrayal and humiliation churned into an ocean of nausea in my gut. I barely stuck my head out of the tub in time to throw up into the toilet. When I was sure nothing else would come up, I rinsed my mouth in the shower and stepped out to dry off.

I gingerly patted between my legs, and then stared in consternation. There was blood on the towel. Holy crow, what had he  _done_ to me? Wasn't the vagina supposed to be an "elastic organ?" Mr. Hensley had definitely said something along those lines in health class. Had Paul torn something in there? Well, other than the obvious. He'd seemed big, not that I had that much knowledge for comparison, but. . .

I frowned, and then sighed when I realized what was going on. Oh. I'd started my period.

Well, that was one less worry. Now I just had to go get tested for STDs. . . In Port Angeles, so the news wouldn't get back to my dad. Paul was the opposite of a virgin and I had no clue who he'd been with in the past—although apparently the answer was  _everybody_ —and oh crap, oh crap, this was the scariest, stupidest thing I could have ever done. I tried to put toothpaste on my toothbrush and had trouble connecting tube to bristles; my hands were shaking. If he had herpes. . . If he had  _AIDS,_ oh my God, oh my God. . . What was the  _matter_  with me?

 _Too many things to count,_ my mind replied. __

As I got dressed, I looked around the bathroom and for the first time noticed how filthy it was. I'd been neglecting my chores. That needed to change, too. I finished getting ready and stumbled down the hallway into my bedroom. By the time I collapsed on the mattress, I barely had energy enough to pull the covers over my head.

When I closed my eyes, I saw Paul's face, just as it had appeared when he'd pulled me on top of him. His eyes were soft, so tender, as he whispered, "Isabella," clearly enough that it felt as though my physical ears received the sound. My skin burned with the memory of his hands, phantom caresses over my throat, thighs, and back. My fingers slid down over the nape of my neck, tracing the path his had etched this afternoon. That same charge of heat glowed in my back again.

My eyes opened as the realization dawned with illogical certainty. He was here.

I rose from my bed and went to the window. In the forest, two eyes glowed green. We stared at each other; I realized after a moment that my hand had lifted to the glass of its own accord and pressed flat there, as if waiting for his touch. My head ached, and my body throbbed with remembered arousal, still painful in its urgency. I had to stop myself from pressing against the pulse between my legs.

At last, the eyes dropped closer to the ground and closed. The second the reflected light vanished, the thrall that held me against the window did too. I turned to my computer and Googled "clinic Port Angeles," then wrote down the address and information I needed, which started the hyperventilating again. Gasping for air, I trudged back to bed and succumbed to a completely dreamless sleep.

  
  


When I opened my eyes the next morning, everything was still awful. I wanted to roll over and retreat into the oblivion sleep offered, but then again there were no guarantees that the nightmares wouldn't return the minute I did so—I'd never gone more than one night without them. Sighing, I rolled out of bed, wincing at the sting where Paul had been the day before. I glanced at the alarm clock; the clinic in Port Angeles would be open in an hour, which gave me just enough room to get ready and drive over in time to be there as soon as the doors opened. I threw on whatever was on top in my drawers, put on my shoes, and brushed my teeth. I was too sick to eat, so I wrote a note to Charlie telling him I'd gone to Port Angeles to study at the library there, and walked to my truck. I was halfway there before I realized I hadn't said anything about Harry, hadn't even waited up for Charlie to come home to tell him I was sorry. I ran back and added a quick P.S.:  _I'm really sorry about Harry. Really, really sorry, Dad._

As soon as I shut the door of my truck, nausea overwhelmed me and I leaned my forehead onto the steering wheel. Part of it was normal first-day-of-my-period stuff, but the rest was sheer nerves. I was going to have to tell a total stranger how stupid I'd been, hope he or she didn't lecture too much, and then wait for the test results for however many days it took. It was almost too much. For a moment, I thought about going straight back inside, but then I remembered: Charlie. I had to start being responsible with myself for his sake, and Renée's. My hands weren't steady, but on the third try, I managed to get the key in the ignition and start the engine.

The telltale heat lit my spine just before the passenger door opened. When I turned to look, I surveyed Paul's face with a total lack of surprise. My head started aching as soon as I met his gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, two more things and I'll shut up:
> 
> 1\. Jared hasn't imprinted on Kim yet. In my opinion, that makes a hell of a lot more sense than "Oh, he imprinted on her way back when he first phased but never mentioned her in all of New Moon." I mean, for the love of God, everything we find out about the business in Eclipse and Breaking Dawn says that all thought-roads lead to the imprint, so why on earth wouldn't he say something like, "Hey, you're taking it better than Kim! She threw up when I phased in front of her the first time!" when Bella finds out about the werewolves? Objectively, it's probably because SM hadn't yet decided to do imprinting in her world. Subjectively, it means that imprinting requires something other than line of sight in this story. There ya go.
> 
> 2\. I feel no obligation whatsoever to go with what little was revealed about Paul's character in Breaking Dawn. You're going to tell me that was what Rachel Black needed? Every damn character was OOC in that horror, I mean, book, so screw that.
> 
> Song for this chapter is "Walking on Broken Glass" by Annie Lennox.


	3. In Which Paul Proffers an Explanation

Paul stood, watching me, for a second, while I dully returned his gaze. Then he got into the cab and swung the door shut behind him. He was dressed; I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen that. He set something down on the seat between us: my shoes, abandoned at the top of the cliff yesterday.

"I'm not going to La Push," I said at last, when the silence between us oppressed me more than the effort to speak.

He nodded. "Where  _are_  you headed?"

My lips trembled. I managed to say, "The women's clinic in Port Angeles," before I had to clench my jaw against a sob.

His eyebrows furrowed into a straight line. "Shit. Are you sick? Do you need me to drive? Should I get your dad?" He put one hand on the door handle, ready to leap out.

" _No_ , you—you—" Words failed me. Where did he get the nerve to pretend he cared? I gave up trying to find an insult appropriate to the situation and spit out, "I'm going there to get  _tested._ For  _diseases._ Because I had totally unsafe sex with a guy I  _don't know_  yesterday, and I also don't know who the hell he's been  _doing,_  but I've heard stuff around the rez that makes me think that maybe I just killed myself after all, just a little bit slower—" He flinched almost imperceptibly, although his face remained impassive; I felt the hurt my words caused as if he'd spoken them to me instead. I faltered for an instant, and then finished lamely, "I have to take care of myself. For Charlie."

Paul smiled a little. It looked sad. "Good." He looked down and ran his finger along the stitching in the seat. "I'm a werewolf. That means we can't get sick, or STDs, you know?"

"Well, excuse me for not wanting to be the Petri dish that proves that theory," I spat out, and then was promptly grossed out by myself. Petri dish. My private parts. Ew. Ew.

He didn't notice. "For what it's worth, I'm not. . . I don't have. . . I'm clean. I mean, you should still go get tested, so you're not scared, but. . . I've always used condoms, except for yesterday, and I get tested every six months even since I started phasing. My mom makes me, 'cause she doesn't know."

I giggled hysterically. "Your  _mom_  makes you? Is that a joke?"

He jerked his head up and glared. "No, it's not a fucking joke. She—um. She walked in on me, once, with my first girl, and . . . She's a nurse, so after that she made me go. She was kinda freaked out."

"I bet." My head filled with questions: how had he dealt with the temperature issue? When was the last time he'd slept with someone besides me? How—curiosity got the better of me; I asked, "How old were you?"

He sort of laughed, but not really. "Thirteen."

I nodded numbly. My ears started ringing and darkness began creeping in on the edges of my vision. He cursed, sliding across the seat to me. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Thirteen," I exhaled, dazed. Every cautionary brochure from the school nurse's office floated up in my recollection like a group of remonstrative ghosts. If having sex with someone was like having sex with everyone he'd ever done it with, and everyone they'd ever done it with. . . How many partners had I had sex with in a single day? It was like a really, really messed-up word problem. I started to hyperventilate. Again.

Paul reached out at the first gasp. "Goddammit, Isabella. What the fuck did I do? You've got to stop this shit." He sounded absolutely furious, but his hands were gentle as he embraced me and caressed my back. The instant he grabbed me, the hole in my chest filled in again and I could breathe. I was returning his embrace before I felt my arms move, whimpering as his body infused my skin with heat. I climbed into his lap; I didn't mean to, but it didn't feel right to sit beside him when I could sit  _on_ him. He caught his breath and ran his nose along the side of my neck, then touched his lips to the point where it joined my shoulder. I shivered and lifted one hand to caress his hair.

 _So good so right so mine yes yes yes mine,_ the voice that sounded a lot like my own chanted gleefully in my head. __

"Don't leave me," I heard someone else say, but it was my mouth that moved.

"I won't," he said into my collarbone. "I promise."

Two promises in as many days. I knew about promises, and how easily they could be broken.

"Would you please drive me to Port Angeles?" I managed to ask after a moment.

"Yeah, but not with you on my lap. It's not safe."

I laughed a little. "Safe. Right. Gotta be safe."

"For Charlie," he reminded me with a half-smile. "Come on, buddy. Let's get you buckled in."

"Buddy?" I asked as he carefully moved me to the other side of the seat and pulled my seatbelt across my waist. As an endearment it seemed . . . unusual.

"Yeah." He didn't bother with a seatbelt for himself—what would be the point? Putting the truck in gear, he said, "I want to get this over with so you can sleep. You've got big circles under your eyes."

I'd had them for months, but of course he hadn't been looking then. "I could sleep now," I said with surprise. A huge yawn made my jaw crack as he pulled away from the house.

"Go ahead. I'll keep you safe." He moved one big hand to rest on my thigh; his fingers were so long that they almost touched the seat on either side of my leg. It should have felt invasive. And of course, it didn't. Damn it.

"Okay," I mumbled, and closed my eyes.

( * * * )

  


At the clinic, they saw me almost immediately. After I explained why I was there, the nurse practitioner got me to take off my clothes, which was my least favorite part of any gyno appointment—Renée had started taking me when I was fourteen, but it never got easier. The NP came back in once I had the flimsy paper gown on.

"All right, Isabella—" she began.

"Bella," I corrected her. Paul was the only one who could call me by my full name without making me grimace.

"Sorry, Bella. I'm just going to check your—" She froze when she caught sight of the skin exposed by the gaps in the gown.

Oh crap. I'd forgotten—all the bruises and the cuts and the scrapes and the welts—they had to look like—

She recovered quickly, professional imperturbability back in place like a mask within seconds, turning to her computer and typing a few notes. "Bella, you said you were a virgin, right? Yesterday was the first time you had intercourse?"

I gathered the edges of the gown together and hunched my shoulders defensively. "Yes."

"And you didn't know the boy very well, from what you said?"

I focused on my toes. The nails were bare. When I lived in Phoenix I kept them painted all the time because I always wore sandals. "Not very."

She conscientiously kept her eyes trained on her laptop. "And was the sex consensual?"

I swallowed, sick with humiliation all over again.  _Oh, yeah. It wasn't just consensual, I begged and pleaded for it and I let him do me on the ground like an animal._  What would she think if I told her the truth? "Yes."

Her face didn't lose its careful lack of expression until she donned her gloves and performed the internal exam. Whatever she saw down there must have reassured her, because she managed to smile when she stripped off the gloves and said, "I'm ordering a blood draw. They should be in, in just a few minutes."

When the lab tech came into the room, I told her, "I'd better lie down; the smell of blood makes me sick a lot of times."

"Okay, sweetie, go ahead and get comfortable," she agreed. Once I was ready, she gently felt for the vein and slid the needle home on the first try.

Her expertise didn't help. The instant the coppery scent hit my nostrils, my eyes rolled back in my head. "Oh, God," I moaned under my breath. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to pass out . . .

Until I heard raised voices and running feet outside. The door burst open, making the tech jerk the tube a little with surprise. I yelped and raised my head to see Paul fending off three nurses with one hand and glaring around the room.

"Who the hell hurt you?" he demanded. "Tell me now, because I'm gonna fucking kill the son of a bitch!"

"Yeah, right, because there's an incentive!" I snapped. He growled; I nervously noted his hands trembling and changed my tone, opting for soothing instead. "Paul, it's okay. Look. Just a blood draw, see? I always act like this with blood; I can't help it. Nobody hurt me. Okay?"

He dragged air into his lungs, shoulders hunched. The lab tech cringed away while she pulled one tube from the needle and replaced it with an empty one. This was getting scary; of all the pack, Paul was the one with the least self-control over his phasing. " _Paul._ You listen to me," I ordered, adopting the tone I'd heard mothers use with misbehaving children. "You are going to calm down  _right now._ Everything is fine and I  _need_  you to stay calm and wait in the lobby."

The shudders stopped as abruptly as they'd begun. His shoulders relaxed. "Okay. I'll go wait there. Sorry."

I shook my head at him. "Go." He started back, absentmindedly batting the nurses' hands away as he stalked toward the waiting room.

Once the door closed, the tech turned to give me a raised-eyebrows look of disbelief. "Is he yours?"

How to answer that? After a second, I decided on, "I'm not sure."

"I think he's sure," was her reply.

I thought so too, I just had no clue why.

The nurse practitioner came back in with a free 28-day sample of birth control pills and a prescription for more. She gave me a lecture ("it won't protect you from sexually transmitted diseases" blah blah blah), and some water to take the first pill, then another lecture ("take it at the same time, like before school every morning" blah blah blah), and then I was free to go.

Once I gave the check-out lady my co-pay, I went in search of Paul. It didn't take long to find him; he was standing in the lobby leaning against the wall closest to the doors. "Ready to go?" I asked as I got closer.

He nodded and swung into step beside me as I walked out. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. I told you. See? Just a little stick." I pulled up my sleeve to show the band-aid-covered cotton ball on the inside of my elbow. "No big deal, if I weren't such a wuss about blood."

He took my arm into his hand as we walked, and then ducked his head to kiss the bandage. It should have been silly, but the charge from the brief caress jolted up my arm and straight to my heart—still there, still pounding—shocking it into triple-time. His gaze met mine; he was just as inscrutable as he'd been yesterday, but he stopped, tugging me closer. I leaned into him; he kissed the top of my head.

This was so easy, way too easy—I had never had the right to touch someone else, besides Renée, without thinking every move through in advance. The thought stream in my head had been  _careful careful don't move too fast or he might lose control and he'll never forgive himself_ every time I'd dared to touch  _him_  without his invitation; I hadn't even expressed to myself what would follow after that, although I'd found out for sure after my birthday party. Jacob _always_ touched me, and I always touched him. . . but then I always felt guilty afterward because I knew I shouldn't, because I knew he wanted more from me than best friendship, and until I was ready to give that I shouldn't touch him all the time either. It wasn't the same with Paul. No worries about mixed signals here—I'd already given my body and taken his in return when he offered it, no friendship required or even wanted, really, until now. Maybe.

Neither of us moved, even though it was starting to rain. "Paul?" I finally said.

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to tell me what's going on with us? Because I have no freaking clue. And it's going to really hurt Jake, and I have no clue what to do about that, either. Do you?"

He pulled away just enough to grasp my hand and start walking to the truck. "I don't know what to do about Jacob. It's going to fucking suck no matter what."

"Why would you do this to him? Aren't you guys friends?" I asked. It came out curious, not accusatory, but I still couldn't believe I'd said it out loud.

"Yeah, we are. We're brothers. But . . ." He unlocked the passenger door and opened it for me.

I waited until he got in on the other side before prompting, "But . . . what?"

"There are some things that are even stronger than brotherhood." He didn't look like he was making some sort of romantic declaration; in fact, his face was a picture of misery.

"What things?" I whispered. "Not sex."

He shook his head. "No. Not that. Fucking was a side-effect, I think."

 _Fucking._ That made it sound like. . . Well, exactly what it had been. God. "Side-effect of what?" __

The corners of his mouth pulled down. I watched as his lips shaped the word. "Imprinting."

I gaped. The word made no sense in this context. "You mean like baby geese?" We'd covered the phenomenon for a brief couple of pages in Biology, back in junior year, but he couldn't be talking about babies and mothers or else sex wouldn't be in the picture.

My question made him smile. "No, it's not like baby geese. It's something that can happen to werewolves. I'm not sure if it's genetic, or what, but it makes us find our . . . soul mates."

I thought about that. "My Gran always said that she and I were soul mates." The words sounded off, wrong, even as I said them. Maybe it was just from the effort of trying to fit my Gran and Paul into the same mental concept.

He shook his head. "Isabella. I wish it was like that, but. . . Oh, hell, no I don't, but I know you're going to wish it. What I mean is, imprinting is nature's or magic's or, fuck, I don't know, the gods' way of telling us who should be our mate."

My voice came out squeaky with stupefaction. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

He nodded slowly, watching my reaction. "I've imprinted on you. You're my imprint.  _Something_  decided we should be together. I think that's why, when I do this . . ." He ran one finger up my arm to my shoulder, leaving a line of fire in its wake. We shivered simultaneously. "It feels the way it does. I think it's why we did what we did yesterday." He paused for a moment, and then reluctantly added, "I haven't talked to Sam about it, and he's the only one who'd know for sure about imprinting. It's why Sam and Emily are together, instead of Sam and Leah Clearwater. He imprinted on Emily, and even though he'd been with Leah for years, and Emily was like a sister to her, none of it mattered. They couldn't stay away from each other. Good thing it's supposed to be really rare. We're just the fucking lucky ones. The four of us."

I gulped. I couldn't imagine kind-hearted Emily deliberately hurting another person like that, let alone a close friend. "So what you're saying is that imprinting turns you into a selfish, self-centered bitch?"

"It can't be worse than a self-centered dumbass who thinks it's okay to risk her life jumping off of cliffs into hurricanes when she's her parents' only child," he snapped, whirling to face me head-on.

I dropped my eyes in shame. He had a point. I'd been self-centered for months now without any sort of supernatural excuse, barring vampire abandonment.  _Parents' only child._ It was an odd consideration for a teenage boy.

When I looked up again, the anger faded from his expression, leaving only concern. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "I don't know how else to tell you. I didn't mean for it to happen—"

"Yeah. I bet you didn't," I agreed with a humorless laugh. "I know you hate me. It's fine." I curled my knees up to my chin and wrapped my arms around them protectively.

His forehead wrinkled with puzzlement. "I don't hate you."

"Yeah, right. 'Leech lover,' 'moronic leech fucker,' 'stupid shit;' those all say 'I love you' like nothing else."

"I didn't say I loved you, either."

"My mistake," I said witheringly. "For some strange reason I thought 'mating' implied love. Just call me Beatrice."

"I'm no Benedick," he growled, to my total shock. "I don't have a problem with commitment, and I don't give a fuck if people think I'm proud."

I gaped at him. "You know  _Much Ado About Nothing?_ "

"Yeah, we traded out smoke signals for books a while back on the rez," he said with such heavy sarcasm that it felt like a mallet to the brain.

I shook my head in bemusement. Paul wasn't  _smart._ He was just one of the guys, crude and loud and obnoxious. He'd never said anything that had made me think. . . Everything just kept on getting stranger and stranger. "So. Imprinting. I'm guessing it's permanent."

He nodded.

 _Mine,_ exulted the voice that sounded like my own, the me who wasn't me. __

I ignored it. "Great. And now you're stuck for life with a girl you can't stand. Being a werewolf just sucks all-around, doesn't it?"

"It has some pluses, no matter what Jacob tells you," he said, smiling again. "And you keep on thinking I don't like you. I do like you." He edged closer until he could put his hand on my foot. "I really, really like you."

"Would you without the imprinting?" I asked skeptically. "I mean, you never even looked me in the eye until you knocked me down before I could jump off the cliff."

He shook his head. "That's why I didn't imprint till yesterday—because I never looked you in the eye. Would I like you without it? I don't know. I can't remember."

I laughed again, but this time with genuine amusement. "Paul, it was yesterday! It's been less than twenty-four hours! You've got to be able to remember!"

He frowned in concentration. "No. Seriously. I can't remember how I felt. It's like I always felt this way. In every memory I have of you, you're just . . . so . . ." His hand slid up, over my calf, and came to rest on my knee. Our eyes met; the air between us grew charged with tension. I leaned back against the seat and lowered my legs. He bent to kiss me. The second our mouths touched, something inside me burst free and I yanked him into me, moaning, running my hands under his shirt and clawing up his back. He grabbed my hips and pulled me down so that I was mostly lying down under him, parting his lips and plunging his tongue inside my mouth as he crushed me against his chest.

"Jesus," he murmured, pulling away to suck on my ear while his fingers traced my ribs under my shirt. "You feel  _so_  fucking good. I just want to—God, let me—come on—" His hands wedged under my back to unhook my bra with one quick flick, which was pretty impressive, but my mind was on other things because he was licking and biting on my neck.

I shoved my legs free to wrap around his waist. "Take it off, take it off," I begged, trying to pull his shirt over his head and kiss his neck all at the same time. He grabbed the shirt and pulled it off in one effortless motion, and then pushed mine up as high as it could go without taking my arms out. I sobbed a little with relief when I felt his skin against mine. He lifted my chest to his mouth; I hit my head on the door but I didn't care because his lips and tongue were making their way to my nipple. He sucked on it through the fabric of my bra. I whimpered—I was with Paul, this felt  _so good_ —and then remembered: "Paul, wait, I'm on my period, we can't—"

"I know you are," he said, not stopping anything. I didn't even want to consider how he'd figured it out, and then I couldn't consider anything except his fingers on my other breast.

I tilted my head back, and the reflection moving across the ceiling from a car parking nearby caught my eye. "No! No, stop," I panted. Instantly, he froze. "Paul, we're in the clinic parking lot." I had completely forgotten that fact until just now. "We're going to get popped for indecent exposure any minute."

He carefully sat back, lifting me with him and then pulling my shirt back into its place. His eyes were wide with shock. "Holy shit, I didn't even—" He stopped, shaking his head in bewilderment. "This is so fucked up."

I nodded, reaching to hook my bra. It took three tries before I managed it even halfway. My hair was a mess; I smoothed it down again. "It really, really is. And what the hell are we going to do about Jake? Does he know?"

He picked up his shirt and put it back on. "Not yet. I was phased when he wasn't last night, so he hasn't gotten a look at my head, and before, on the beach, I was so worried about the redhead that I was able to keep him out, but. . . It's really hard to hide stuff, especially from Sam and Jacob if they decide they want to see. And the others know something was up. I don't think they saw your face, or they'd all be out to get me by now, but. . . It was pretty memorable, what happened, you know?"

I nodded. Yeah, I knew.

"We can't hide it forever," he warned me. "I don't know if I can even hide it a day."

I rubbed my eyes, trying to think and failing. This was all too much. "Well, just do the best you can until I can figure out some way to. . . break the news or something." Under the pressure from my fingers, a couple of tears spurted from between my eyelids and down my cheeks. "He's going to hate me."

"Oh, no, buddy," he crooned, pulling me to him again. I smiled in spite of myself as I leaned into the hug; it was such a funny thing for a boy to call a girl. "He won't hate you. He might beat the shit out of  _me_ , but he won't hate you. Nobody could hate you." He tilted my head back and kissed my forehead, my nose, and the edges of my mouth. There it was again: that disconcerting tenderness, so at odds with everything I thought I knew about him.

"How can you be so sure?" I asked.

"Because you're you. Jacob knows you. He loves you; believe me, I  _know_ , being in his head is like the twenty-four-hour Bells channel. And you're so sweet and—" He abruptly stopped talking. I could feel  _what the hell?_ written all over my face, but he just kissed me again. "Let me take you home so you can get some rest."

"All right," I sighed. I scooted over to the other side of the seat; he reached across me to buckle me in. "I can do that," I fussed, but he ignored me and took care of it anyway. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I looked at him and, once again, someone else seemed to take over my mouth. I heard myself ask, "How long can you stay with me?"

"Do you  _want_ me to stay?" he demanded. I half-nodded, half-shrugged, unable to use words to answer. "Till tonight, then. I have to study, and then I have patrols. I'll have to leave around five."

Charlie would be working from ten in the morning until eight tonight. "Okay," the other-me replied. "Don't leave me."

"I won't until I have to." He reached over to rub my knee. "Try to go to sleep, okay?"

When he touched me, everything bad faded from my awareness, leaving only comfort and heat . . . and that damned headache, but it was a small price to pay for a working heart and lungs that were able to breathe. "Okay," I said obediently, and shut my eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is "The Worst Idea" by The Get Up Kids.


	4. In Which Paul Puts a Table to Good Use

When we got home, I let Paul in and then looked around at a loss, wondering what on earth to do with him. I had homework that a couple of (mean) teachers had assigned for spring break that I needed to have finished when school started again, but I didn't really see us as study partners. When I glanced over my shoulder, I noticed him surveying the interior of the house—not as though he were actually seeing the furnishings, but more as if he were memorizing the layout in case he needed to make a quick exit or take refuge behind a corner. He loosely grasped my elbow with one hot hand, ready to take me with him if it proved necessary. Everything about Paul was combat-ready.

I turned around again and saw the kitchen. Food. That was a safe bet with any of the pack. "Are you hungry?"

He smiled a little. "I can always eat."

I walked to the fridge and opened the door to survey its contents. "I've got leftover lasagna, some salad, French toast, chicken Marsala, tandoori chicken. . ."

"Sure, that sounds good," he said, looking over my shoulder.

I craned my neck back to look at him. "Which?"

"All of it," he said, like,  _duh._ "Here, I'll get it." He gently moved me out of his way and started lifting out Tupperware, setting the containers on the counter. "Plates?" I reached into a cabinet and got one out. He took it with a frown. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'm not hun—" I started to say out of habit. I hadn't really gotten much enjoyment out of food since the Cu—since  _they_ had left town. My stomach growled as I said it, though, and I stopped talking in confusion. "Wait. I  _am_ hungry. Hm."

He reached out and traced my ribs again, this time through my shirt. It felt like he'd shocked me, but it wasn't unpleasant. "You're too thin."

"You didn't seem to be so turned off by it yesterday," I shot back, stung, and then bit my lip as I heard my tone. Jeez, he was really good at bringing out my worst behavior.

Paul shook his head. He didn't look disgusted or upset; he looked as if he were trying to solve some sort of puzzle. "I wasn't. I'm not. But you need to eat, buddy. Which of this stuff do you want?"

I opened a bunch of lids and took a look. "The lasagna? Maybe the salad too."

He cut a slab of lasagna that was twice what I would have given myself, set it on the plate, and put it in the microwave. While that was heating up, he got out another plate and started loading it up with everything he could find. When the microwave beeped, he got out my plate and asked, "Which salad dressing?" while he forked out spring mix from the bag.

When was the last time someone had served me? No, wait, Jacob always tried to get me to eat. . . but I was never very hungry even with him. "Green Goddess," I said hastily, when he turned to see what was taking so long.

He finished getting everything ready, put the unused food back into the fridge, and carried both plates to the table. "C'mon," he said when I still stood, watching him. "You've really gotta eat." He reached out one long arm and pulled me by my hand to a chair.

I sat down. This was probably the weirdest day of my life. No, second weirdest; yesterday took the top prize. "Any sign of Victoria?" I asked, trying some lasagna. The mouthful made my eyes widen with surprise. Hey, I was pretty good at lasagna; I'd forgotten that I liked it so much.

"Who?" he asked, then, before I could swallow and clarify, "Oh, the redheaded leech. No. She's running scared." He gave me a cocky grin. "She  _should_ be scared. We ripped her friend to shreds and she knows she's next."

"Didn't it bother you?" I asked, before trying the salad. It was really good, too. "I mean, they  _look_ human. Do they, you know, bleed? That has to be gross, I mean, all over your teeth, blech."

For a second, I saw Alice being torn limb from limb instead of Victoria, and could barely swallow from nausea. Too late, I realized that this was totally inappropriate for a conversation over food, but Paul didn't look as though it had affected his appetite. He had his head bent over his plate and was steadily plowing through the chicken Marsala. When he glanced up, though, his eyes had gone hard. "No. They don't bleed. There's nothing human about them but the shape."

I could beg to differ, but it wasn't worth the pain it would cause me to discuss it. We finished our meal—I ate every bite on my plate and then he fed me bits of chicken off his own—and washed the dishes together. I glanced at the time: eleven-thirty. "What do you want to do? I guess we could watch a movie or something."

Paul smoothed my hair back and tilted my chin up, searching my face. Whatever he saw there made him frown. "You're still too damn tired."

"I slept all the way home!" I protested, but as soon as I said it, I could feel my eyelids weighed down with the realization that he was right. Of course he was right; it had been half a year of sleep deprivation and night terrors. My head felt too heavy to keep upright; gradually, I leaned it forward to rest against his chest. It still throbbed, but I was getting used to the ache. He slid his hand around my head to rub the nape of my neck under my hair. I breathed him in for a second; my arms had already embraced him on their own. He still felt exactly right against me.

 _Mine,_ the voice agreed. __

 _Shut up,_ I told her wearily. Honestly, had one of the  _Finding Nemo_ seagulls somehow managed to possess me like a grabby avian demon? __

"You need to go to bed."

I snorted. "Yeah. I bet you'd love that."

He breathed out a chuckle. "You know I don't mean it like that. Jesus, how the fuck can you still be so worn out? Don't you sleep at night?"

My arms tightened around him as though he was my tether to safety. "I have bad dreams."

He pulled back, rubbing my shoulders. "Did you have any last night? I didn't hear you get upset or anything."

I met his eyes. "No. I think it was. . . I think it was because I knew you were here." I couldn't have explained how I understood that, but I was filled with conviction of the statement's truth.

Paul pressed his lips together in a thin line, forehead furrowed. After another moment, he nodded. "Okay. Then let's go to bed together." When my eyebrows shot up, he added, "To  _sleep,_ Isabella. If the only way for you to get some decent rest is for me to be here, then you need to take advantage of the time I've got."

I frowned a little at the notion. This was too much; I'd never slept with anyone except for Edward in my bed. And how did I have any reassurance he wouldn't tell everyone about it? He  _said_ he'd try to hide it, but Paul had always been quick to brag in the past. A refusal hovered on the tip of my tongue. Before I could decide what to say, or how to say it, Paul lowered his mouth to mine.

It was completely different from every other kiss we'd shared; he was so gentle that at first I barely felt the pressure of his lips. His hands came up to cup my face. I sighed and slid my arms around his neck; peace and comfort flowed from the contact between our mouths, down into my heart, and from there to the rest of my body. One of his thumbs caressed my jaw, and then moved to my chin, urging it down so my mouth would open to him. Obediently, I parted my lips and let him inside. He hummed as our tongues touched. _Oh, that's right,_ I thought,  _this is why I turned into a lunatic yesterday, I was happy, I'd forgotten happy and doing this with him makes me so happy . . ._

And talk about happy, this was the weirdest part, as if everything about this wasn't weird: I could still feel the misery that had attended my every waking moment, even the least miserable ones spent in Jacob's company, since my birthday. It was still there, but there was a partition in my emotions, and on the other half was sheer happiness that the misery couldn't touch, like when fog hit a windowpane and curled back in on itself, unable to penetrate the glass. I didn't know where the happiness came from, but I was ready to take it and call it mine. Just like the voice in my head called Paul  _mine_.

I lost track of the minutes passing by as we stood in each other's arms, our mouths moving together with the sort of ease and familiarity that should have taken months, years, to accomplish. His fingertips skimmed over my body, ghosting over my clothes to the patches of skin laid bare, and then lifted my shirt to splay across my back. I stood on my tiptoes, trying to reach as much of him as possible.

He kissed me and kissed me and kissed me, like he had all the time in the world, and then he lifted me up to sit on the table, still in no hurry, just rearranging our positions for greater comfort. I wrapped my legs around his, pressing my ankles to his thighs and drawing him closer. He was so hot; if I could just get him close enough I would never be cold again. I didn't  _want_  to be cold and dead inside anymore; all the cautious tenderness and the slide of our tongues and lips and hardness of his body beneath my hands made life worth living again, just for now.

The glow in my backbone had spread, radiating through my entire form, illuminating every cell. I thought that maybe, if I opened my eyes, I would see myself shining bright with his effect upon me. I couldn't be bothered to look, though.

Slowly, slowly, he eased me down, until I lay on my back with one of his arms cushioning my shoulders from the table. The other hand moved across my face, adoring touch trailing down from my hairline, across my throat and chest, to my stomach. He grasped the hem of my shirt and drew it up; I helped him get it off, and then tugged at his own until he removed it, too. Oh, yes; that scorching skin against mine was so exactly the way things should be. He undid my bra and took it off, drawing it down my arm until it fell to the floor. With one finger, he traced the bruises he'd left upon my breasts the day before; I couldn't read his expression as he examined them. I wondered if he felt guilty—they were pretty dark—but then he fastened his mouth over one mark that bordered my nipple and sucked, renewing the sting and the pleasure all at once. I couldn't think any more; my entire mind was filled with the refrain of  _oooh yes, oooh yes, oooh yes,_ my body echoing every repetition with another burst of exhilaration, and then he slid me down and himself up and pressed us together, one hand under my tailbone to hold my pelvis to his. I could feel the proof of his arousal pulsating even through our clothes, and the memory of him inside me took my breath away.

Still moving with slow deliberation, he thrust against me; I wrapped my legs around his waist and curled my arms around his shoulders, running my fingers through his hair. Languid ripples traveled in ever-widening circles from between my legs all the way to my toes and fingertips and up into my head, where I still only thought  _oooh yes, oooh yes._ I realized that I was saying it out loud too, crooning softly, " _Oooh yes, oooh yes,"_ over and over again as he pushed and ground against me. He was saying it too, in a raw voice that left his feelings stripped bare for my inspection, " _oh, fuck, yes,"_ like he was agreeing with me, like we were having the most important conversation of our lives, confessing and accepting all sorts of things that were better off remaining concealed. I rocked up just a little bit more—there—there it was—and came, deep and intense but so comforting, sighing with the emotional release that filled my throat even while I throbbed in his arms.

I opened my eyes to see Paul reach between us and move his shorts and underwear out of the way, exposing his erection. He kissed me while he wrapped his fingers around his length and stroked. Lifting his head, he met my gaze. I bit my lip at the emotion I read on his face—it was so  _much_ , even if I didn't understand exactly what it was—and reached to brush my fingers over his where he gripped himself. He groaned when I did, and then he came all over my stomach and chest, shaking and gasping and digging his other hand so deeply in my hair that it hurt, but I didn't mind. I trailed my fingers across my torso with lazy curiosity— _hot slick wet_. He sucked in air through his teeth, whispering " _Fuck,"_  watching the glide of my hand through what he'd left on me. After a moment, he lifted himself away. He came back with a dish towel he'd grabbed off of the oven handle and carefully wiped me clean, then unerringly tossed it into the open washing machine that stood in its closet between the living room and kitchen.

I kissed whatever of his skin I could reach while he readjusted our clothing and picked up my bra, but I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. He lifted me up; I felt us ascending the stairs, and then I was in bed and he was drawing the covers over me. I caught his hand and managed to whisper, "Stay, Paul, stay," even though I was almost too tired to form the words.

"For as long as I can," he promised, and lay down beside me, pinning me to the mattress with one long leg over my hip and a heavy arm across my chest, sprawled like a puppy. The weight and the heat of him sent me tumbling into sleep almost instantly.

( * * * )

  
  


When I heard Jacob's ringtone, I snatched it up without opening my eyes and pressed "accept" before I even realized what I was doing. "Hey Jake," I chirped, and then froze as I remembered I wasn't alone, and who was with me. Paul's body, which he'd pressed against every inch of mine that he could reach, stiffened. For a second, I wanted to hide my face, as if Jacob had suddenly developed the ability to see through the phone.

"Hey Bells," he answered. He sounded normal, not quiet and confused the way he had the night before. "Did Paul come by?"

"Um, yeah, he did," I replied, rolling in the circle of Paul's arm to face him. He nuzzled the crook of my neck, making my hair stand on end in electric reaction.

"Good; he was supposed to get my clothes since I had to just leave them in the woods behind your house. You know my dad said he wouldn't get any more shoes for me, and I think maybe he was serious. It'd suck to have to go to school barefoot."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure the teachers frown on that sort of thing," I teased, but my chin quivered. I was going to hurt him so badly when the truth came out.

Paul seemed to pick up on my distress; he rubbed my arm and kissed my forehead.

"So when are you gonna come up again?" Jacob wanted to know.

"I always come up, Jake," I answered. "Tonight, probably. I think my dad wants to be there for Sue anyway."

"Yeah. That's good. Okay, see you then?" Paul's jaw set so tightly I could see a muscle jump in his face, over and over again. He looked like he was coming to some sort of decision; the sight filled me with dread.

"Sure; I can't miss out on my recommended daily allowance of warm soda." We said our goodbyes and hung up.

Paul and I stared at each other in silence for a moment. Finally, he said, "Yeah. It's gonna fucking suck."

That sounded ominous. I braced myself for whatever blow was coming.

He went silent again for another moment, and then added reluctantly, "You really love him."

I nodded. "Of course. He's my best friend."

Paul's face was as much of a cipher as ever, but there was a sickness in my gut on the other side of the emotional divide, where only happiness had been before. "He loves you, you love him. I'm the thing that fucks up that equation. And Jacob is way less fucked up than me." His eyes searched my face; he seemed to be thinking, running words through his mind and picking and choosing the best way to present them to me. At last, he said, very slowly and carefully, "I don't think I can do it to, um, to him." As if that sentence had opened up a door, he continued with greater confidence, "I've got to talk to Sam and see what he thinks. Maybe. . . maybe there's some way to get around it. Maybe there's something I don't know that can change things. There  _has_  to be something."

I nodded, but his words struck me with arrows of rejection.  _Stop it, Bella,_ I ordered myself.  _This is the right way. Jacob deserves whatever's left of your pathetic life. Paul knows that._  It was true, but my heart—it was still so strange to have it returned to my chest—didn't want to believe it. I loved Jacob, but whatever had passed between Paul and me was different. I was selfish, because I wanted them both. I wanted Jacob's kindness and friendship and undemanding good nature while keeping Paul's intensity and his amazing effect upon my body and emotions. There was no way I could have that, though. Maybe if they'd been strangers it could have been possible, but not as pack brothers. Jacob was sure to see this as a betrayal.

"I guess we need to try," I croaked out, but my arms clutched at him. My body had no morals; it only knew what made it feel right. I blinked back tears.

"Yeah, I do," he said grimly. "I don't know if. . . Isabella, if Sam does know anything, this may be the last time you see me for a while. I'm going to have to try to avoid you as much as possible because the second I see you, I just want to fucking be inside you." I shivered with dark gratification at the blunt confession. "Jacob's supposed to be Alpha. Sam has the job because he's oldest and Jacob didn't want it, but he's supposed to be in charge. One of these days he's going to take it, and I don't want to be the son of a bitch who stole my Alpha's girl out from under his nose."

"I don't think you could help it," I said, raising one hand to press to his cheek. He turned his face to kiss my palm.

"Yeah, well, I don't think Jacob would understand that. I don't think I'd be all that goddamn understanding about it either. I've been in his mind, Isabella. It's not like I've just guessed at that shit or maybe seen his face when he talks to you and figured it out. I've felt it. I've seen you through his eyes, and that kid fucking worships you. I don't think he'll care that I do too, now. I'm only part wolf; I should be able to be better than some asshole animal instinct."

Every word he spoke increased my miserable resignation. Even the sideways confession of his feelings for me didn't help. He was right. I'd never expected Paul of all people to show so much depth or principle, but he was right. I knew Jacob loved me; he'd been patiently waiting for all these months for me to come around, and instead I'd had sex with his pack brother in a fit of imprinting-induced lust. There was probably no way we could keep the sex hidden forever, but maybe we could hold off the revelation long enough that it wouldn't matter as much when it surfaced.

"So. . . you think we should try and break the imprint?" I asked, because apparently I needed him to spell it out.

He sat up and thought for a while, then, "Yeah," he said on a sigh. "I do. If it can be done, I'm gonna do it."

Just the thought had me quaking like a leaf in a tornado. I tried to answer, but the only thing that came out was a low-pitched strangled, " _Nooooo . . ._ " from the other-me.

"Shit. Isabella, cut that out! Goddammit." He pulled me closer, but his hands were desperate, moving everywhere as if they could memorize the outlines of my body before he forced them to let go forever. "You should be grateful; he's way better for you than I would be. Fuck."

I gasped out, "You don't want me anymore," and it felt like I had just encapsulated my life story in one sentence.

"I want you. I fucking want you so goddamn much I can barely breathe. It doesn't matter. We're still human—well, you are, I mostly am—and we're not gonna let werewolf shit control the way we live our lives any more than we have to. We  _should_ be able to help it."

Those weren't the lines I'd expected. I tried to peer through the glass wall between what I was starting to realize were my emotions and his. There was something not right, something he wasn't telling me . . . This was about more than Jacob. I could read that much, but panic—from him and from me—made it hard to think straight.

At last, I nodded jerkily into his chest. "You're right. You're right." He  _was_  right. He  _was_  right. It didn't matter at all that separation felt horribly wrong; he was right. If I said it enough times, I might even start believing it with more than just my mind. "Don't leave me." Just the idea of being without him was enough to make me want to pass out. My heart pounded with terror, so hard that it felt like it was going to work its way through my ribs. This was so stupid; _imprinting_  was so stupid. How could he be this essential already? It shouldn't be possible.

Paul's fingers dug into my upper arms. I whimpered under the pressure. "I don't want this to be—" He grabbed my face between his hands and crushed my mouth with his, shoving his tongue between my lips and plunging it as deep as it could go. I opened up, surrendering, offering as much of me as he was willing to take. For a minute, it felt like he would take it all.

Just for a minute. Because after that, he dropped his hands, said "goodbye," and tore himself away, out of my mouth and out of my bed and then out of my house, slamming the door shut downstairs while I ran to my window. My lungs disappeared; his departure ripped out my heart. I threw open the glass and watched him retreat into the woods.

"Paul," I gasped with the little air I had left.

He jerked around, eyes wide, expression pained.

 _I can't I can't I can't_ my mind chanted. __

 _Mine! Should-be-with-me!_ the other-me wailed. __

I could see the same helpless agony written all over him. Each of us leaned toward the other.

He was stronger than I, though. After a moment, he stepped backwards once. Twice. His entire body trembled, but he kept going. Three steps. Four. He was fading from sight into the shadows. My knees collapsed beneath me; I dug my fingernails into the wood of the window frame so tightly they cracked. It didn't matter that everything between us was wrong and hurtful to my best friend, I  _needed_ him. Five steps. Six. Seven.

Paul was the better person. He left me there, shivering on the floor. The headache disappeared, but that was no consolation. He took all my body heat with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: "Let's Get Lost" by Beck and Bat for Lashes


	5. In Which Bella Goes Visiting

I didn't know how long I knelt there by my window, but it was completely dark outside when my phone rang and jolted me out of my trance. I picked it up and answered automatically, "Hello?"

A long pause, and then a frightened, "Bella?"

Oh, no. I'd just spoken with the dead voice I'd used for months after Edward's departure. Poor Renée. Come on, Bella, you already decided to do what it took to get better before you knew about Paul. "Hi Mom!" I answered, infusing my tone with a little more cheer. "How are things going?"

"How are things with you?" she demanded, not at all appeased, and I knew she was going to push this.

Back in Phoenix, I'd been able to tell her anything. I missed being able to tell my mom everything. I missed being able to share even one thing. I settled for, "Boy trouble."

"Oh Bella. Is it Jacob? I know you two have gotten pretty close."

"I wish," I said with genuine fervor. If I were with Jacob, though, everything would be easy . . . as easy as breathing. I'd never be left on the floor in a ball if I'd had the good sense to choose him.

"Please tell me you're not back together with . . . with  _him._ "

"Oh no," I reassured her. "He's still . . . gone. You know, to L.A."

Renée sighed. She was too smart to express her relief in any other way.

Now that I had her on the phone, I remembered a question I'd meant to ask. "Hey Mom, what do you do for people when someone dies?"

"What on earth, Bella?" she demanded. "Is someone dead?"

"Yeah, Harry Clearwater had a heart attack and—" Her gasp and strangled sob reminded me, too late, that she'd known the Clearwaters. Harry had probably been a friend. "Oh crap. Oh no. Mom, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have broken the news to you like that, I totally forgot you guys knew each other—"

"It's fine, sweetheart, I'm okay," she said, but her voice was full of tears.

I was the worst daughter ever. "No you're not! That was a really crappy thing to do; I shouldn't let myself be so distracted . . ." I trailed off, hearing my words. I'd been letting myself be distracted since September. I'd been doing this to my mother, one way or another, since a few days after my birthday. God. I sucked.

"Are you wondering what you should do for them?" she asked. She sniffed a little.

"Yeah, um . . . Is there anything I can do to help out? I mean, Cha—Dad's helping with the funeral arrangements and stuff, but—"

"You can cook," Renée said firmly, gaining control over her voice again. "Nobody's going to have the energy to make food for a while, and if people don't cook for them they'll end up eating fast food and feeling sicker, plus spending money they probably don't have right now. Funerals are expensive. And, Bella, I know that it's really hard for you to deal with other people's strong emotions, but you are going to have to look the Clearwaters in the eye and say that you're so sorry for their loss. Not saying anything is a terrible route to take."

She rarely got that adamant with me, and when she did, I listened. She must know I'd been too stuck inside my own trauma to deal with other peoples' issues. "Okay. I can do that. I made lasagna the other day, so I have enough for a double batch. Is that a good thing to take?"

"Absolutely. Ask your dad to pick up some salad at the store—the pre-rinsed kind—and some take-and-bake French bread if you don't feel up to making it yourself. This is terrible. Poor Sue." She paused for a second, and then added, "I'm so glad you're finally taking steps to look outside yourself, Bella."

That stung; I felt unfamiliar anger stir in my chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Bella, I know that you know about karma because I'm the one who taught you. You've been sucking up other people's positivity for months now without putting anything out but negativity. You're making the people who love you imbalanced. That's not the daughter I raised. The daughter I raised knows that in order to acquire positive energy—"

"You have to exude positive energy," I said along with her. The difference was, I spoke between gritted teeth. She hadn't raised me; I'd practically raised myself while she was seeking inner light! What the hell? Like she had any right to talk to me that way, she had  _no idea_  what I'd been through because she'd been too damned busy with her boy toy husband . . . Wait. Why was I so mad? I didn't get mad. I got guilty and ashamed and depressed.  _Calm down, Bella, jeez._

"Exactly," she agreed, either oblivious to my fury or choosing to ignore it. "You receive upon yourself whatever you put out into the universe, sweetheart."

I was breathing hard, so angry that I shook with it. "That's total—"  _Total bullshit_ was on the tip of my tongue, but at the last instant I cut myself off. I wasn't going to speak to her that way; it would be like kicking a puppy. A puppy with a unicorn horn that had a rainbow around its neck instead of a collar. "Okay, Mom," I managed to say after a long moment, during which she hummed and I could hear the sounds of running water and dishes clinking—another late night for Phil and her, if they were just now cleaning up after dinner.

"I have a crystal I've been using to cleanse my aura if you want—"

" _No._ " I quickly added, "Um, but thanks for the thought. Just do it for me if you don't mind."

She chuckled. "It doesn't work that way, sweetheart."

 _Probably because it doesn't work at all,_ I wanted to say, but again I barely managed to restrain myself. "Well, I'd better go and start cooking. Love you, Mom." __

"I love you too, Bella; blessings on—"

I hit "end" before she could finish the benediction, and threw the phone across the room. It shattered into three pieces: front, battery, back. I stared at them, looked at my hand in disbelief, stared at the phone pieces some more. I  _did not_ do stuff like that. I didn't do things like scream at Edward in the shower either. Maybe I really was losing my mind. Cautiously—I'd scared myself a little—I rose and put the phone back together. At least the effort of doing that got me moving; once I started, I found out I could keep going.

I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen and—oh, crap. I was never going to look at our table the same way again. I wanted to drape myself across the space Paul and I had occupied, as if that would somehow bring some consolation, but of course I didn't. Instead, I got started on the lasagna. I was  _starving_ ; I kept eating bits and pieces of the meat, cheese, and noodles as I got the various things ready, but I didn't feel full at all, which was doubly weird because I had lived off of portions that would have maybe kept a squirrel in good health for months now. After I put them in the oven, I went upstairs to clean the bathroom. It was only then that I realized I had thought Edward's name.

At seven-thirty, I pulled two pans out of the oven—one for Charlie and me, one for the Clearwaters—and started thinking about whether or not I should bring what was left of my homework along with me to the rez. Jacob and I still sometimes tried to fool our dads into thinking we were getting something academic accomplished during our visits, although I had a feeling we weren't really pulling anything over them. Jacob wasn't school-inclined to begin with; the werewolf transformation had sort of sealed that deal and . . .

I was resting my palm on the table in the exact spot where my back had been pressed a few hours before.

I snatched my hand away as if I'd laid it upon the oven element.  _Idiot_. _It only lasted a day; get over yourself._

It didn't feel like it had just been a day. It felt like I'd known him—no, that wasn't right. It didn't feel as though I  _had_ known him, but as if my heart had somehow been freed from the boundaries of time and remembered the years that it _would_  be spending in his keeping. I'd thought Edward—there was his name again, and it hadn't killed me—had taken my heart with him, but clearly that wasn't the case if it could pound frantically at the slightest touch from Paul. Now I just had to figure out a way to get it  _back_  from Paul.

Someone knocked on the door, making me jump. I whirled to see Sam Uley standing in the porch light. That couldn't be good. I didn't want to open the door to him, but my feet carried me over and my hand twisted the doorknob seemingly of its own volition.

"Bella," he said in that unnaturally calm, deep voice. "May I come in?"

I stepped silently out of his way. He walked to the table as I shut the door and sat down, sighing and running his fingers through his hair. He wore the standard pack gear of shorts and nothing else, but whereas on the boys it looked like lounge wear, on Sam it looked like a uniform. Finally, he sighed again and said without preamble, "Paul—told me. I already knew something was up. I'm sorry, I know this is uncomfortable, but I saw flashes of yesterday in his memory, and felt that  _pull_ —it's like gravity, inescapable, irrevocable, and it can't be mistaken for anything else. I'm the only other one who knows what it feels like, though, so the others don't understand yet. It's Paul's hope that they won't realize it at all—they might not, because imprinting is supposed to be extremely unusual. And since I'm in charge, I can keep more things private in my mind than the rest."

I forgot, sometimes, that Sam Uley hadn't always been tied for life to the rez. He'd been college bound before a higher calling consumed his future. His educated speech stood in stark contrast to the sort of ribbing I'd become accustomed to with the pack. Sadness made it hard to move my head, but I managed to nod.

"Bella." Sam straightened his shoulders and sat up, meeting my eyes. He was so young to be carrying this much responsibility—just a couple years older than me. I wondered if he felt more out of his depth than he let on. "I honestly don't know if you two can fight this. Emily tried; she tried so hard it almost killed us both. I don't think you can do it. You're the center of his world now; everything he does rotates around you. I don't know how he can even  _think_ about leaving; it should feel like his heart's being ripped out when he does. There's something different about you two, but I don't think it's different enough to make your plan work. I'll run it by the tribal council to see if there's any more information, but . . . Then again, Paul is so damn stubborn he makes a brick wall look flexible, and from what I've seen of you, in person and in Jacob's mind, you seem to have the same streak. He's asked me to give him an Alpha order so that he can't see your face when he thinks of you, to protect what's left of your privacy. It has to be the weirdest thing I've ever made someone do, but it might work. The others know he had . . . had an  _encounter_  with a girl, but they don't have to know it was you. Yet."

I nodded my understanding again. Sam shook his head. "He wanted me to order him to stay away from you, but I wouldn't do it. It won't do any good, number one, because the imprint's effect is supposed to be more powerful than the Alpha's commands, and number two, I think it's going to end up making you both crazy." He laughed humorlessly. "Just saying. You're both insane anyway to try. The only reason I'm going along with this is because Paul's right about one thing: the triangle between you two and Jacob could end up rupturing the pack, and we really can't afford interpersonal drama at a time when we need all our attention focused on killing leeches."

He bent forward and buried his face in his hands. "Of course, now  _his_  attention's going to be all on steering clear of you. He's staying in wolf form to make it easier, since there's no . . . physical pull there when we're in that state."

I could feel myself turn cherry-red with humiliation; tears flooded my eyes. The others might have seen glimpses of my body, or of us together, but they didn't know who was doing all those embarrassing things with Paul. Sam did. He knew all about how shameless I'd been, how I'd begged for him to give it to me, how I hadn't even spared a thought for my best friend . . . Oh God. I was such a slut. Okay, I'd only been with one guy, but I'd never even gone on a date with him. Unless having him take me for a blood panel work-up counted as a date. Maybe on Planet Crazy Wolf it did.

Sam looked up and saw my face. "Hey. Bella." He got up and put his hands on my shoulders. I ducked my head in shame, trying to hide my expression. "Bella. Would you please look at me?" I wanted to stare at my shoes, but to my dismay I found I almost  _had_ to listen to him. Probably if he did an Alpha thing on me, it would work. Crap.

I raised my head to meet his gaze. To my surprise I saw vast understanding and compassion there. He spoke slowly and emphatically. "You don't need to be embarrassed. You had no idea, and it's a crazy powerful event to have sprung upon you without warning. Even I had no idea that this was possible for a girl who's not Native. When I warned you that hanging out with us would put you in danger, I didn't consider this sort of thing. Trust Paul to be around a girl for weeks without ever looking her in the eye. And by the way, he didn't look at you because in his mind, you were Jake's girl. It wasn't because he hated you." I snorted a little. One side of his mouth turned up slightly in acknowledgement. "I know. But, this is not your fault. It's not his fault. I understand that better than anyone else. If Jake does end up finding out, which he will, I'll help explain it. If it turns out you two can't keep away from each other, which it  _will,_ I'll help handle the fallout then, too. I'm here to take care of the pack, and that means imprints as well as werewolves."

I'd disliked Sam Uley since the day I'd seen the frightened resentment dawn on Jacob's face at the mention of his name. I'd especially disliked him since I found out that he gave Jacob the order that would have kept us apart, if I hadn't figured things out. Now, though, I just wanted to put every burden I had squarely upon his capable shoulders and let him take care of them for me. He reminded me of Jacob, offering himself up for hard service without any guaranteed return. Maybe it was an Alpha thing. Nodding, I whispered, "Okay. Thank you."

He dropped his hands and looked around the kitchen. "Lasagna, huh? It smells really—" He inhaled deeply, and then froze, pressing his lips together. To my absolute shock, he stared directly at the kitchen table, then the washing machine, and then me. I squeezed my eyes shut against the reluctant realization on his face. I'd been exposed by telepathy and now a supernatural sense of smell. I needed normal friends.

Oh, hell, they wouldn't want me.

"You should probably shower and change . . . Change  _everything_  . . . if you're planning on coming up tonight and want to hide anything from Jacob," he said finally. "Scrub three or four times."

Just kill me. Kill me now. Death would be a welcome relief. I didn't want to live in a world where big strange men could smell someone else's dried sperm on me anyway. "Yeah. Oh-Okay," I managed to stutter out, and opened my eyes, daring to peek.

He shook his head and headed for the door. "The longer you try to hide it, the worse this will finish."

I had a sick feeling that he was exactly right about that.

( * * * )

I showered, all right. After I texted Charlie to tell him what to pick up at the store, I scrubbed—again and again and again—until my skin glowed pink, and then I washed a fifth time with a different washcloth. I washed my hair three times. By the time I finished, Charlie was home and ready to take off for La Push. We spent the drive there in silence, but that was nothing new. When my dad felt deeply, he lost his ability to express himself; that was something his daughter understood perfectly.

When we arrived at the Clearwaters' tiny home, I trudged up the steps behind him, dreading the approaching need to obey my mother's strictures. A boy who looked like he might be a senior swung the door open before Charlie could knock.

"Hey, Charlie," he said with a half-hearted smile.

"Hey Seth," my father replied. My eyes almost bugged out of my skull. This was  _Seth_? The cute little guy I'd met at the pasta party a few weeks back? "Nice haircut. How's your mom?"

Seth shrugged with one shoulder. "'Bout as well as can be expected, I guess." He stepped back to let us come in, and noticed me. "Hey."

"Hey," I said, with a jerk of my chin since my hands were occupied with lasagna.

"Bells, you remember Seth Clearwater. Seth, my daughter Bella. She brought . . . What'd you bring, Bells?"

"Lasagna, bread, and salad," I started to say, but then my eyes caught sight of Seth's hair and I faltered. It looked as if it had been hastily chopped off, very recently, jagged cuts and uneven edges readily apparent upon closer examination. I looked at Seth's face; he met my gaze with an odd kind of knowing.

"I should have brought the second lasagna," I said blankly.

"It'd go bad before they had a chance to eat all that," Charlie replied, confused.

Seth just gave that same half-smile and reached to take the food from my arms. "Let's put it in the kitchen. Oh, hey, it's still warm, awesome."

"I bet you're starving," I answered, following him into the other room.

"You have no idea," he said, and caught himself. "No, actually, you do."

"Yeah." I opened and closed cabinet doors and drawers until I found plates and silverware, and then served a huge slab of lasagna plus half the bag of salad to him. He grabbed a bottle of ranch dressing and sat down to stuff his face. I stared at his plate longingly for a while. Finally, I gave up and cut a serving for myself too.

The silence between us grew increasingly uncomfortable as we shoveled food into our mouths. "I'm sorry about your dad," I blurted out.

He glanced up in surprise. Maybe I was the only uncomfortable one after all. "Oh. Yeah, thanks. Hey, this food is awesome. I didn't know Charlie could cook."

I giggled. "He totally can't. I made that."

"Really? You rock."

I found myself smiling at his straightforward enthusiasm. "Thanks. Hey, where's your sister?"

His smile disappeared as if I'd switched off a lamp. "Running."

I wistfully imagined being able to run in the dark without breaking any bones. "Whoa. She must be a serious fitness freak if she's running this late."

Seth looked a little green under the brown of his skin, but it didn't stop the motion of his fork from plate to mouth. "No. I mean, she's  _running_. Like, pack running."

My jaw dropped. " _What?_ " He made a "pipe down" motion with his free hand. "What?" I whispered, but it came out like the world's quietest scream. "Are you telling me she's—one of you?"

Seth nodded miserably. "Yup. Only girl werewolf in the history of history."

My eyebrows drew together. "It's really mean of Sam to make her run—" Wait. Leah  _Clearwater._ "Oh crap. Sam's ex."

Seth sighed. "Yeah. Good times. He's not making her run, by the way. She can't phase back. She's too freaked out."

"Well,  _yeah_ ," I replied in horrified sympathy. It was pretty much the most bizarre, terrible chain of events ever.

"We killed my dad." That confession finally stopped the eating.

I gaped. How on earth could this poor kid blame himself? How could he include his sister in that accusation? "He had a heart attack. That doesn't make any sense."

"He had a heart attack because of us. Because we both phased in front of him. I'm too young and Leah's a girl and it shouldn't have happened, but it did, and now he's dead."

Okay, no,  _that_ was the most bizarre terrible chain of events ever. "Oh, Seth. That . . . That just  _sucks._ " It was a completely inadequate description, but I couldn't come up with anything suitably dramatic. I fumbled for something comforting to add on to it. "But it's still not your fault. I mean, people get shocked all the time and don't have heart attacks and die. Maybe, for all you know, the next time he got mad over a bad call during some ball game it would have happened." I didn't believe it, but I tried to make it convincing nonetheless. The first time I'd witnessed the werewolves phase, I'd felt like I would never be able to breathe again. Seth might be right that the fur show had killed his father. Just another reason to hate the werewolf thing.

Oh God. The first time I'd seen the werewolves phase, it had been Paul and Jacob. Fighting. About me.

I hunched over, wrapping my arms around my chest to cover the gaping wounds that had returned—so much worse now that they'd been temporarily filled and then excavated.

"Are you okay?" Seth asked, eyeing me as he served himself another quarter of the lasagna. He was really sweet, to be able to notice me while he was dealing with the worst thing he'd probably experienced in his life.

"Oh, yeah," I said vaguely. I needed Jacob; I needed him to help me hold my shape together. "I'm just gonna . . . If my dad asks, will you tell him that I went for a walk? I'll probably end up at the Blacks' house."

"Sure, no problem," he responded, but I was already walking out of the back door.

Once outside, I started in the direction of the garage, trying hard not to think. I wanted to turn off my mind, but it was almost impossible; there was only one thing that did that for me, and it wasn't a possibility at the moment. So instead I ran through homework assignments in my head, planned out meals and grocery shopping lists, and put one foot in front of the other until at last my steps slowed as I approached my destination. I looked up from the ground—and frowned in confusion. This wasn't Jacob's house. It was almost exactly the same, but it wasn't quite—the shrubs were manicured, there were flower boxes on the windows (with actual flowers) and the door had been painted red. My feet carried me to that red door. I watched as my fist came up to knock.

A middle-aged, Quileute woman dressed in purple scrubs, with a short, no-nonsense haircut and serious eyes, opened the door. We stared at each other for a moment in silence.

"You must be—are you Bella Swan? Chief Swan's daughter?" she asked finally.

I nodded. "Yeah—I'm sorry to drop by this late—I just—" I had no idea what I was saying. What could I tell her when I didn't know what had brought me to her front porch?

"Oh, no, it's okay," she said, opening the door wider. "Please, come in. Paul mentioned you would be coming by. I'm his mother, by the way. Diana Miller, but please call me Diana."

Oh, yes, of course. I was at Paul's house. Why wouldn't I be? "It's nice to meet you." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. How had he known I would be coming by? Probably the same way I knew which one was his house. Well, at least I knew his last name now. "Is he here?" the other-me inquired, sounding too eager, as I stepped inside.

"No, sweetheart; he had things he needed to take care of for Sam Uley," she said kindly. "He left an envelope for you in his room though. Do you want me to go get it or—"

"If it's okay, I'll get it," I interrupted. He'd left something for me?

"Sure thing," she replied. "I'm about to head out to work; would you just lock the doorknob behind you?"

Was she really going to trust me alone in her house? What on earth had Paul told her about me? "Of course."

"All right then." She picked up her purse and fidgeted with her keys for a moment, studying me with a crease between her eyebrows. "You have a good night."

"Thanks. You too. Drive carefully."

After she closed the door behind her, I turned to the hallway. All of these houses had the same basic layout; Paul's bedroom was probably the first door on the left, across from the bathroom. I pushed it open and, stepping inside, flipped on the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: "My Weakness" by Moby.


	6. In Which Bella Steals a Pillow

Paul had ruthlessly organized the contents of his room; at least, I assumed it was him, because the living room and kitchen, while clean and livable, were also a little cluttered and certainly not immaculate like in here. His bed was made, covers drawn tight as a drum. Next to his pillow was a copy of  _The Glass Menagerie._ The books on the shelves beside the bed were perfectly aligned and alphabetized by author. I walked to the desk next to the window and flipped on the goose-neck lamp. He had a laptop; next to it he'd stacked textbooks for classes I didn't think they offered at the tribal school. I ran my fingers down the spines: Latin. Calculus. AP English IV, which was odd because he'd only just turned seventeen—I remembered Jacob talking about the sheet cakes at the party. Maybe he supplemented with online courses? The possibility intrigued me; none of the rest of the pack, with the exception of Sam, seemed interested in books and academics.

How on earth had he hidden this side of himself so well? Did he simply never invite anyone over, never think of it when he was away? And why had he left whatever he had for me in here—did he want  _me_ to see this?

An envelope stood propped up against the computer's keyboard.  _Isabella,_ it read. I opened it with shaking hands, only to see . . . standardized test scores? What the hell? It  _looked_ like something along those lines: at the top, in bold, read the header:  _Miller, Paul Tristan._ As I ran down the columns, though, I understood: these were his STD test results, dated two weeks ago. Sue Clearwater's name was listed as the health care provider; that must have been how he'd managed it even with werewolf temperature to give him away.

He was so practical. He hadn't wanted me to worry during the time it took to get my own results back. I sighed as I got to the bottom: all negative, just as he'd said. I hadn't realized that my stomach was clenched with nerves until I felt it partially relax. I wondered if I should take the papers with me, but I didn't want to imagine what would happen if Charlie found them and put two and two together, so I just folded them back up and slid the envelope into a desk drawer. Paul would know I'd been here.

Okay. Time to go.

I stood for a moment in the center of the room.

_No, really, Bella. Time to go. Go find Jacob._

I took one step toward the door, and then one step backwards, and then I broke and collapsed on the bed, burying my face in his pillow and gasping for breath. The pillowcase smelled like him: woodsy and something a little bit like the ocean. As soon as I inhaled, the scent traveled down my throat and filled lungs that expanded to receive it. Breathing was such an underappreciated art form. My pulse raced in my neck as my heart began to beat where it belonged once more. One more breath, and all the tension drained from my body, leaving me boneless.

I clutched at the pillow for just a little bit longer before I forced my fingers to unclench and smooth out the wrinkles. I'd grown accustomed to the absence of vital organs in the past six months; I'd just have to resign myself to more of the same. Rising, I patted the bedspread back into place. If I wasn't careful, I'd fall asleep right here and poor Diana would come home to find me like Goldilocks, only instead of the bears there was a werewolf.

A blue bolster pillow in the same pattern as the bedspread lay in the gap between the mattress and the wall; clearly his mother had bought the thing for him and he didn't know what to do with it. I reached for it and lifted it to my nose; yep, that smelled like him too—and I was so not going to put it back, I realized with distant horror. It was coming with me. I didn't think he'd mind, but if he did he could just come get it himself, because this was all his fault, him and his _nobility_  and  _fraternity_.

I stepped toward the door, and froze again as a thought struck me. If I felt this way about  _his_  scent, how much more would Paul need mine? My sense of smell was nothing to his. I stripped off my hoodie while I considered that. It might be a mistake; maybe a clean break was best . . . but I couldn't bear the thought of him aching like I did. My hands were already lifting my shirt over my head before I finished the thought, leaving just the camisole I wore underneath for insulation against the cold. I folded the shirt neatly and put it under his pillow, then put my hoodie on again and zipped it up to my chin. Moving like a sleepwalker, I shut off all the lights and locked the door as I left, heading back to the Clearwater home. I dropped the bolster pillow in Charlie's cruiser and lifted out my backpack, only then turning toward Jacob's house.

  


( * * * )

  


I couldn't stop eating.

It had been a week since Paul had kissed me goodbye and backed into the shadows. I did everything I had before he screwed me on a cliff's edge: I went to school. I came home. I went to work. I went to Jacob's. As long as I had my personal sun in front of me, I remembered why we were doing this to ourselves; Jacob's delighted grin at his first glimpse of me—every time I got out of my truck or walked into the garage, without fail—was reminder enough. It brought to my remembrance how fiercely I hated anything that made him hurt or sad—I didn't want to hate  _myself_  more than I already did. He loved me; I knew it, and I knew I should love him back. Maybe, if I just gave it enough time, I _would_ love him back, in the right way.

That didn't help the eating, though. I was hungry  _all_  the  _time._ I didn't even want to eat; the steady throb of misery where my heart and lungs should have been eliminated any pleasure I might have found in the activity. If I didn't eat once an hour or more, though, my stomach started turning in on itself in knots, which was pretty challenging during school hours. Jacob watched me shovel food into my mouth with baffled pleasure—he took it as a sign that I was improving. I lost weight even with consuming everything I could get my hands on, as if there were a fire inside me and it needed constant fuel to stay alight.

Not that the fire provided any heat; I shivered all day and night no matter how many blankets I piled on myself. I wasn't sleeping; Paul's pillow kept me from gasping for breath when I could stay in bed, but it wasn't enough to put me out. The headache returned, too; it started with a tiny sting at the base of my skull, and over the course of seven days it expanded from that point to encompass my entire head.

On Friday, I drove up to La Push, parked my truck in front of the Blacks' home, and staggered into the garage to collapse on the horribly beat-up couch Jacob had put there in deference to my inability to get comfortable on concrete.

"Whoa," he said, surveying me doubtfully from under the engine of his motorcycle. "You look awful, honey."

"Thanks," I groaned, throwing my hands over my eyes. Even the small amount of light edging through the cloud cover hurt to see.

"You know what I mean." He sat up and reached to put his hand on my forehead. "Are you sick? You feel normal—everybody feels cold to me so that's probably not good."

"I don't feel hot; I'm freezing. I just have a really bad headache, and I haven't been able to sleep for like a week," I answered. His hand felt wrong on my face, even though I should have welcomed the warmth. I casually removed it and held it in my hand instead. My hand was fine. "Plus my teachers are being so cruel with the homework. I mean, I only have a few weeks left; haven't I proved that I know what I need to about high school by now?"

"I'd think so. Then again, I feel like I've proved that and I've still got two years left, so maybe I'm not the best authority."

I laughed, but something in his voice made me move my hand from my eyes and look at him. His eyebrows were furrowed; he stared distractedly at the floor even while his thumb rubbed the back of my hand. "Hey, are you okay? You seem worried."

"I'm fine. It's just . . . wolf pack stuff."

I sat up. "What's going on?" I had a feeling I knew, though.

He confirmed my suspicion. "Paul's been weird lately. Remember that day when you guys went cliff-diving?"

Oh, only every other minute or so. "Yeah. So?"

"Ever since then, he's acted really strange. Like, he won't come out of his wolf form at  _all._ His mom's worried sick, but Sam's being the high-and-mighty mysterious Alpha about it, all, 'This is something Paul will need to figure out on his own.'" He imitated the deep tones of his pack leader; I snorted with laughter despite myself. "He used to run away all the time before he phased, so she's not too surprised, but she can't help worrying. I think it's something . . . He keeps on  _not_ thinking about someone, like his mind wants to go there but there's a wall in its way. Embry and Jared said that he was thinking about this girl for a few days, but he doesn't anymore, plus they never saw her face. And, I mean, it's not like it's all that unusual for Paul to hook up with someone. Girls like him. I have no clue why."

I laughed again, but this time the sound was edged with desperation. "Yeah, who knows?" A blade of remorse cut through the heart-shaped hole in my chest; it wasn't right for me to betray Paul like that, even if it was what he wanted. "Why do you care? I thought you didn't like him."

"He's a dickhead about eighty percent of the time, but, you know, we grew up together. We're brothers."

Boys were so weird. How they could call each other dickheads and mean it as affectionate ribbing was totally beyond me. "Okay. And?"

"And he's sad. I think he misses her, even though our feelings are a little bit different when we're wolves. It's weird; you'd think it would take more than a couple days."

The hole in my chest expanded the slightest bit with fresh pain. "Do you have a blanket?" I asked to distract myself.

"Here you go." He dragged over the pile I'd left folded on the arm of the couch and covered me with one after another. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks." I burrowed deep under the weight and comfort. "So where's Paul sleeping? What's he eating?"

"He sleeps outside, but that's no big deal with the fur coat," Jacob replied, still frowning. "He's not eating much, though. It's really disgusting to eat in wolf form; you have to catch the animal, kill it, and eat it raw, and you can't chew so you just have to kind of choke it down . . . I've never done it, actually, but the others have."

"He needs to eat!" I said, sitting up. That must be why I was starving all the time. How could I help? "Can we, like, leave food for him?"

"It's a toss-up whether or not he'll phase back to human to eat human food." Jacob shrugged. "Might be worth a shot. You should leave it at his mom's house; she cooks but she's been working doubles this whole week so he would've been doing his own food anyway."

"I bet I can get him to eat," I said with a certain reluctant satisfaction. I could, too; if I told him I  _needed_ him to eat, he probably would. I'd gone over our few interactions in my mind over and over again, trying to figure out how this thing between us worked. Telling him what I needed, or him figuring it out, seemed to be the key to something.

Jacob looked a little confused, but he still smiled when he answered, "Sure, sure. I mean, you are the queen of the casserole. Empress of chicken."

I chuckled, and then moaned as my head stabbed again. "God, this  _headache!_  If it doesn't quit soon I'll go blind, I swear."

"Oh. Is  _that_ the excuse you'll use?" he asked in a knowing tone.

I curled my lip in mingled disgust and amusement. "You are so gross and totally not funny. Like, at all."

"So, what you're saying is, you think I'm awesome." He scooted away and returned to his bike.

"Well, yeah. Duh." I  _did_ think he was awesome. Up until a week ago, he would have been my first choice for producing some sort of life facsimile without Edward. Now, though, an inner urgency gnawed at the corners of my mind, making my legs restless and my stomach churn. I had to leave. I had to  _go._ "Are you gonna work on that thing all night?"

"Probably. Why?"

"I'm going to the Clearwaters' to see if I can borrow some sugar. You guys don't have any, do you?" I got to my feet, trying to make the movement casual even though everything in me was abruptly desperate to move.

"Diabetic dad. No."

"Right. If I can get some sugar I can bake something for Paul, see if I can get him to eat. I mean, I'll do something more too . . . Maybe breaded pork chops; I saw you had some tenderloin in the freezer. I'll be right back."

"I'll come with you," Jake offered, but then something fell out of the bike onto the floor with a  _clink_  and he frowned as if it had insulted his mother.

"It's fine. I won't take long." I started walking out.

"No, wait, you don't have to go alone—"

I whirled on my heel and glared at him. The other-me snarled, "I  _don't want you."_

Jacob froze, but he didn't look hurt. He wore the same expression of puzzlement and concentration that he'd shown when he brought me home after I jumped off the cliff.

I sucked in a deep breath, said in a normal tone, "To get up. I don't want you to have to get up. I'll come back right away, promise," and took off into the woods before he could follow.

Once I set foot into the tree line, an internal pull began leading me in the right direction. My feet took me unerringly to a deer path, which led uphill and into deep forest. By all rights, I should have been tripping and falling every few feet—hiking expeditions and I were never a good combination—but my body knew where I was going and kept itself safe on its way. At last, my spine flashed and burned, and I stopped in my tracks.

"Paul?" I couldn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary, but I knew he was there. I turned around, peering. "Paul? I know—I know you're there! Come out. Come out  _now_ , do you hear me?" Still no sign of him. "Paul, please!" I swallowed, and then tried out my new weapon. "I  _need_ you to come out."

Pine needles crunched to my right. I turned to see the dark silver wolf staring past me. With a sob, I threw myself at him and flung my arms up around his neck, just above my head. My whole body shook with mingled relief and heartbreak as I buried my hands and face in his fur. He lowered his head and sniffed my hair, whining. I sighed against him, reveling in my renewed ability to breathe. "I missed you so much."

He moved his head between us and nudged me with it, butting me backwards. I staggered back a couple of steps and frowned. "No. I'm not going anywhere. Not yet." I lifted one hand and scratched behind his ears like a dog. He tilted his head toward the caress, and then collapsed to his belly beside me. I ran my hand along his side and pressed my lips together as it  _thump thump thumped_ across his ribs. "Now who's too thin? You need to eat too, you know. It's weird; the hungrier you get, the hungrier I get. And I'm losing weight, too. You've got to eat something or you'll turn me into a skeleton, and you know you thought I didn't weigh enough before this."

I didn't really care all that much about eating, but I thought maybe concern for me would motivate him when concern for himself wouldn't. I felt sick; the second I touched him, the headache had expanded its boundaries until it felt like the bone and skin that encased my brain would fissure under the strain of it.

"Something human, I mean. No use making yourself gag with raw meat. That's just nasty . . ." My voice broke and I pressed my face into his neck again, letting his fur absorb the scattering of tears from the corners of my eyes. I still had to be in physical contact if I had the chance, although, just as Sam had said, there was no sexual pull. (Thank God for that; I might be a slut for Paul but that would have been the end. Talk about nasty.) "I'm sorry. I know I'm babbling, but Paul, my heart's gone, it's gone again, I didn't know how much I missed it until it came back but I think I have to be with you for it to work right, and there's this damn headache; at first it was just when I saw you but now it's all the time and I have your pillow, I'm sorry but I took it."

He licked my hand, even though he still didn't look at my face. I flashed back to him doing the same to my neck as a human and flushed. I wanted . . .

Wait, he wasn't even  _looking_  at my face? Had Sam told him not to see it at  _all,_  or had he taken the order that way?

"I left my shirt under your other pillow. I don't know if you've been home, so . .  your mom's really worried, by the way. She seems nice. She left me alone in your house; what did you tell her about me that she would do that? And I saw your test results; thanks for leaving them for me. Mine haven't come back yet." I stroked his head—so soft and pretty. I would never have been able to talk to him this way if he were human Paul, but wolf Paul was a different matter. Actually, I couldn't talk to any humans this way, not even Jake. "I think you should go home and take a shower after I leave, and maybe eat something. Making yourself sick won't help anyone, you know? And it'll help your mom to see you. Trust me, I'm an expert on making moms worry lately and you don't want to go there. Next thing you know, they're offering aura-cleansing tips. Or maybe that's just my mom?" He snuffled through his nose, pressing it to my hand.

"Nothing too bad can happen if I'm not on the rez while you're human, probably. Sam told me he ordered you not to see my face in your head, which is pretty sad, but if I'm gone you won't have to worry about it, right? I'll leave food at your place, so you can go home around eight, and be human for a little while. You don't have to stay this way all the time. The pack's worried about you, anyway, and the more worried they get the more questions they'll ask."

He scooted closer and put one massive paw on my knee. I knew what he wanted as clearly as if he'd spoken. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay with you." I tangled my fingers in the fur under his chin. "I really, really want to, though. But I told Jake that I was just borrowing sugar from the Clearwaters, and if I show up hours from now empty-handed he'll know for sure something's up." He whined again, and more tears leaked onto my cheeks. "I don't want to leave, believe me."

We leaned into each other for a few more minutes, until finally he gusted out a deep breath and rose to all four feet. I sat still, cross-legged. "You'd better just go; I don't think I can walk away from you." He went immobile; I wondered briefly if maybe I wasn't the only one who couldn't walk away, but at last Paul turned around and stalked back into the tree cover. The instant he disappeared from view, the glow in my backbone faded to black, and I gasped for air. No lungs.

I walked downhill until at last I began to recognize landmarks. On my way, I thought about what Sam had said about imprinting:  _you're the center of his world now._ I knew what it was like, to have everything that gave your life light be torn away. How much worse would it be to have to  _choose_ to give it up?

And what would it be like to choose to love someone, knowing that they could find a new center of gravity at any moment, if they met the right girl? What would it be like to choose to love Jacob, now that I knew about imprinting's effect—now that I knew he could leave me?

What would it be like to choose Paul instead? To know that he would stay forever? To finally be  _safe?_

When I thought about it like  _that_ , the decision practically made itself. As if in response, the headache grew even worse. Practically blinded by the pain, I went to the Clearwaters' to borrow the sugar, and returned to Jake's house to make the best pork chop dinner in the entire world, at least according to him. Plus a chocolate cake.

"Half of that cake is Paul's," I reminded him as I got into my truck to leave.

"Sure, sure," Jake replied, but the wide grin on his face as he said it made me wonder if it would ever get to its intended recipient.

I went home, driving with one hand so I could wrap the other arm around my chest, and made my way upstairs, hunched over, to take a shower. After I dressed in my pajamas, I sat in front of the mirror on my desk and began brushing out my wet hair. The headache hadn't relented at all since I left the rez; in fact, it was getting worse, which an hour ago I wouldn't have thought possible. Every time the bristles touched my scalp, I cringed from the pain.

I tilted my head to run my brush through the back of my hair—and jerked upright as my backbone lit up. A movement in my window caught my eye in the mirror. Disbelieving, I moved to the side just enough to see Paul's reflection as he stood inside my room. I wanted to run to him and ask him how he was doing, but the tortured longing on his face struck me dumb. He was wearing clean shorts, so he must have made it home before he came to me. I made to turn, to look at him, and he flinched toward the open window. Right. He couldn't see my face.

I bit my lip, gazed at the desk and swallowed hard, considering my next course of action while dampness warmed and spread between my legs. My heartbeat deafened me with its pounding. The other-me finally knew what to do. I rose and carefully, cautiously, tottered to my bed, looking at the floor. I was so aroused that my legs almost wouldn't hold my weight. I turned out the light before climbing onto the mattress and turning my back to him, lying down on my side on top of the covers.

I stared at the wall and waited.

We both panted in the dark as the minutes crept by and the silence between us grew more and more charged with painful excitement, and then the other-me moaned,  _"Please"_ and Paul snapped. He was in bed behind me, naked, before I blinked again, trembling hands pulling down my pajama shorts and underwear to my knees and pushing my shirt up too. His fingers ran over all of that exposed skin as if they could somehow absorb me through their tips; everywhere they touched they made my flesh come to life. He curled around my back and I caught on fire, a conflagration lighting every inch of my body, as his erection pressed against my rear. I forgot for a second and started to turn in his arms, but he held me tighter and begged,  _"Please no please no please,"_ and then I remembered; instead I moved, just enough, so he could slide himself below me and into where I was already soaked and ready for him. I writhed with shocked ecstasy as he buried himself as deeply as he could go in one thrust, turning my face into my pillow and keening because he was back where he belonged. The headache was going to split my skull in two, but I'd die happy.

I grabbed the arm he had around my chest with both hands, holding on for dear life. He pulled me into him, impossibly tighter, adhering to me in as many places as he could, and slammed hard and deep, over and over again, while I shook and the breath sobbed in my throat with fulfillment and the agony in my head. The ball of lust in my belly expanded until its edges fused with the boundaries of the headache and I couldn't tell the two apart anymore; they were one and the same thing. The pleasure/pain distilled and concentrated itself until it exploded. The force of my orgasm made me bend double; my internal muscles clamped around him so hard that he hissed. I screamed into my pillow.

As I came down from my high, the headache dwindled and disappeared altogether.

Paul's breath came in frantic hitches against the back of my neck. Something hot and wet dripped into my ear; it took me a second to understand what it was. When I did, I murmured in wordless consolation and lifted my hand to caress his face, covering the tear tracks with my palm. He made a pained sound, and rolled so that I was on all fours and he was curled into my back, surrounding me everywhere as he thrust in and out. I whined as the excitement built in my gut again, up and up and up until I fell apart the second time. Paul went still, throbbing inside me, and collapsed, pushing me into the mattress for a moment, before he carefully rolled us back to our sides. He still clutched me like a lifeline. At some point I'd kicked off my shorts and underwear; my shirt was still bunched up around my armpits, half-covering one of his arms, but I felt more at ease than I had since he'd left me.

 _Mine,_ the other-me sighed in relief. __

 _Yes,_ I agreed with her. __

"Stay," I pleaded. He moaned out something like _"Can't,"_ but I was a witch who'd finally found the right spell, because I enchanted him with  _"Need you,"_ and he helplessly nodded into my hair. Still careful, still turned away, I lifted his hand to my mouth and kissed it, too many times to count, wordlessly conveying the depth of my gratitude. He put his forehead into the crook of my neck and sighed unsteadily, hot breath ragged against my shoulder blade. The broken contentment in the sound was the last thing I noticed before I fell asleep.

In the morning, I woke up and wondered if I had hallucinated the entire episode. My bed didn't look any different; my window had been closed. My pajamas were back in their place. I rolled up to my feet and went to the bathroom. When I looked in the mirror, though, I saw a new, adult smile spread slowly across my face, because on one of my upper arms there were four long parallel bruises: he'd marked my skin when he held me. I overlaid the shadows with my own fingers, pressing down, and closed my eyes with satisfaction at the ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: "One Part Be My Lover" by Bonnie Raitt.


	7. In Which Bella Does What It Takes

If I'd labored under the delusion that Paul's visit meant he was ready to give in to the imprint's pull, I quickly discovered the depth of my misunderstanding. He ran. And he didn't just run out in the woods, like poor Leah, who had missed her father's funeral because she couldn't return to her human body soon enough. No, he ran a lot farther to get away from me.

" _Canada!"_  I shrieked when Jacob called me the next day. I'd managed to cram in a query about Paul's well-being after studiously asking after Emily, Embry, Quil, Sam, Jared, and, oh, anybody else on the rez who knew me.

"Ow! Jeez, Bells, I think you just ruptured my eardrum! Warn me next time if you're going to go all girl screamy on me. Damn. Yeah, Canada. It's not really that far, considering how fast we can run, but it kind of puts the rest of us in a bind. It's weird; he's always been the one who takes this the most seriously. I can't figure out what could be more important than the pack to him."

"Yeah, it's a mystery, all right," I agreed, barely hearing my words.  _He ran, he ran, I can't believe he ran._

"So? You coming up later?"

"I can't," I breathed, and hung up. He tried to call back, but I turned the phone off, curled up on top of my covers, and didn't move again.

Charlie checked on me that night, knocking on the door around eight-thirty when he came home to a dark house and no dinner. "You okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah, fine," I said into the blankets. "I'm sorry I didn't call you to warn you about not cooking."

"That's okay; we've got a couple of frozen pizzas." Silence fell, but I knew he hadn't gone anywhere. I could feel him fidgeting, attempting to come up with the right thing to say. He tried again. "Sure you're okay?"

"I just don't feel good," I offered lamely, and curled up tighter until he went away.

On Sunday, Charlie came in and cajoled me into drinking some water, but that was all my stomach could handle. It had passed the point of normal hunger hours before, and hurt so badly that I could only bear to stand up to go to the bathroom.

Jacob sneaked in through my window that night. I raised my head when I heard him, hoping against hope that he was Paul, although the cold in my back denied me any reason to do so. When I saw his worried face, I put my head back down on my pillow and closed my eyes. "Hey."

"Hey," he answered, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. "Charlie told Billy you were sick. Is it some weird virus that keeps your finger from pushing the green button on your cell?"

I shrugged.

"Bells." One big hand came to rest on my shoulder.

He was warm. It wasn't the right sort of heat but it was the closest I was going to get. With a sigh that sounded more like a sob, I turned over and scooted closer to him, pressing my forehead to his knee where it was drawn up onto the mattress. He moved his hand to stroke my hair, but it didn't feel wrong. This was Jake my best friend, not Jake-who-wanted-more, so I could relax and accept the comfort he offered.

We sat in silence for a while, until at last he asked, "What made you sad?"

I shook my head. "I . . . I can't."

"Okay."

His hand slid down my hair, sunshine in human form moving across my head.

"Hey Jake?"

"Yeah?"

I caught his hand and drew it down, tucking it under my chin. "You know I love you, right? And I wouldn't ever hurt you on purpose?"

"What is this?" he demanded. "Bells, what are you telling me?"

I opened my eyes at the frightened note in his voice. "Huh?"

His face was scared, too, as he moved to kneel on the floor and meet my gaze with his own. "You're not going to hurt yourself, are you?"

I furrowed my eyebrows; the thought hadn't crossed my mind. "No. I just wanted to tell you that. You  _do_ know, don't you?"

His eyes searched my face for a little longer, and then they warmed into a smile. "Yeah. I know." He raised his free hand to smooth my hair back, and this time it was the other Jake. "You know I love you—" He cut himself off, looking frustrated, like the words weren't coming out right.

I wanted to smack his hand off me, but instead I scooted my head back away from him. I had let him get away with that sort of thing before because . . . where would I go if he decided I wasn't giving enough? Better to let him think he had a chance than close myself off from my one source of heat and light. And, now that there  _was_ no chance of that happening anymore, maybe I could admit that I'd kind of sort of sometimes halfway thought about what it would be like to have his body for my own. It didn't make any difference. The last time Paul and I had slept together  _my_ body had dedicated itself to him no matter what my mind had to say about it _._ "Yeah. I know," I responded before Jake could try again.

He drew closer. Our mouths were inches apart when he suddenly lifted his chin and kissed me . . . on top of my head, instead of where I'd expected, on my cheek or forehead. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah." What other answer could I give?

He leaped out the window, and I shivered the night away alone.

On Monday, I stayed in bed too.

That night, a little before my dad was due to return home, I heard a knock on the door. I was going to ignore it, but then I remembered that Charlie was expecting a gun delivery that required a signature, so I dragged myself down to the front door, and stared in vague surprise at the person waiting on the other side. "Hey, Angela."

"Hi, Bella," she said, trying for light conversation with her tone and mostly succeeding. Her expression, however, gave away her true feelings; her eyes widened with fright as she looked me over. "I just wanted to drop off your homework assignments and make sure you're feeling okay."

The look on her face felt like a slap to my own. I wasn't going to do this again. I couldn't. It wasn't fair to any of the people who cared about me. I straightened as much as I could and forced my arm to let go of my chest, even though the hole throbbed with sharp pain. "I've been worse." I forced a smile as I took the papers she held out. "This was so nice of you. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow? I'd ask you in but I don't want you to catch the plague in case there's any germs left over."

The tension eased a little from her features. She mustered a smile in return. "That's cool. See you tomorrow."

I cooked dinner for Charlie; the relief in his, "Hey, Bells," made getting out of bed worth it. Once I tried a bite, I was able to eat too.

That night, I dreamed about Paul, and woke up at three a.m. with my hand already between my legs. When I came, it  _hurt_ , offering no relief at all and making me burst into tears of longing and heartache that I was almost positive were only half mine. The sobbing continued for a solid hour. I stumbled around bleary-eyed through school the next day.

As soon as I got into my truck after the last bell, I headed straight to La Push.

"Bells!" Jake exclaimed after I made my way to the garage. He swept me off my feet and twirled me around. "You feeling better?" His brown eyes searched my face, far more serious than his words. He rubbed my shoulders, and then slid one hot hand slowly to my neck. He didn't look speculative, the way he always had before. He looked like he was trying to fit a part onto the Rabbit that wasn't quite the right size.

I casually shoved his hand away, but not so casually that he could think I hadn't minded. "Cut it out. I'm good. What're you working on?"

After that, I kept myself functioning the way I had before: I went to Jacob's every chance I got, and sometimes even when I wasn't supposed to, skipping out of my last few classes and heading up to La Push instead before I had to go back to Forks for another shift at Newton's. As long as I didn't skip anything before third period, nobody cared. (That last was due to a little tip Jessica Stanley had let drop after her stint assisting in the front office: don't miss second period, but anything after eleven-thirty was fair game because attendance was all about money and second period attendance determined funding.)

I could see myself glowing at night. Or, rather, I didn't really  _see_ it, but I felt it, that invisible luminescence that had emanated from me as Paul imprinted.

This was the other thing that helped me stay . . . Well, at least as sane as I'd been before: I was certain he wanted me, as certain as I was that Edward no longer did. I woke up the exact same way every night—gasping Paul's name, on the verge of yet another agonizing orgasm. I knew it was my body's siren call to him, showing him the way home even if he didn't want to take it—but I was pretty sure he did want it.

I wished I could do what  _Jake_ wanted, silently, every time he let his hand linger on mine or leaned too close as we walked the beach. I wished I could be what he asked, even while I edged away. The funny thing was he didn't act hurt or upset with my new boundaries. He just seemed confused . . . and then he did something even weirder. After a week and a half, he stopped trying.

I slept with my window open every night, just in case Paul decided to return. I was shivering anyway, so why not?

A week passed, then two. Victoria encroached on the pack's territory three times; each time, they chased her off but couldn't corner her. The boys' eyes grew tight with frustration, and they snapped at each other more frequently than usual. Part of it was irritation at Victoria's wiliness, but part of it was missing their brother. The pack wasn't right without Paul.

On the Friday that marked exactly two weeks after Paul's last visit, after we'd finished homework, Embry and Quil came in already arguing.

"I'm just saying, if you'd get the lead out of your ass—"

"Shut up, dickwad, I'm not the one who let her climb a fucking tree—"

"No, but you're the one who—"

"What's wrong?" I asked, splitting my attention between Jake and the two of them. Jake just shook his head and sighed, slamming his geometry book shut.

"The redhead came back last night," Quil said, all the usual fun absent from his expression. "And Embry here—"

"Stop it." Jake's tone wasn't particularly harsh, but Quil's mouth snapped shut nonetheless. "We're all responsible. We were all there."

"All of us except for Paul," Embry said, discouragement written all over him. His shoulders slumped as he sat down next to me. "If he were here—"

"Well, he isn't," Jake interrupted. "And Sam isn't getting him back, so we're just going to have to figure out what to do without him."

"Or figure out how to get him back," Quil barked, pacing restlessly. "He's always been the best at predicting her next move when we're chasing her—I dunno how but he seems like he knows what she's going to do before she does."

"Yeah, Leah's fucking fast but she sucks at that end of things," Jake agreed. "If we had both of them . . ." He trailed off, eyebrows furrowed into a V as he stared at the floor. "I wish I knew how to get him back. Did either of you talk to him last night?"

I held my breath, waiting for the answer.

"I tried." Embry sounded grim. "It kind of hurts, though. He's so fucked up in the head right now that it feels like it's me who's messed up when I get through to him."

I cringed with the sudden sharp stab of agony around my heart.

"Are you okay?" Jacob asked.

"I'm fine. I'm going to Emily's; I'll be right back." They started arguing again before I closed the door of my truck.

I  _was_  going to Emily's, but I hoped to see Sam while I was visiting. Rain began to fall about halfway there; I dashed through the gate to the front door and knocked. Almost before I dropped my hand, it flew open.

"Bella!" Emily exclaimed with outstretched arms. I leaned into her vanilla-scented embrace and smiled as her scarred cheek pressed to mine. I'd forgotten how much I liked Emily. "Please, come in." She stepped back and closed the door behind me, handing me a towel.

"You're so smart; how did you have this ready?" I asked, drying off my face and hair.

She laughed. "I actually was just folding a load of towels; when I saw you coming up the path I grabbed one. No supernatural housewifery—or housefiancée-ry?—here. Come back to the kitchen and I'll get you some tea."

I sat at the table while she bustled around, unloading a teapot, loose tea leaves, and a strainer from cabinets and drawers, and flipping on a burner for the water. She set out a few pound cake slices and smiled with satisfaction when I took three. "I'm glad to see you're eating more."

"Not my idea," I declared around a mouthful of cake.

The smile vanished. "I know."

I choked. She hovered half-out of her seat for a second, worried, until I was able to clear my throat. "You  _know?_ " I finally managed to wheeze out.

Emily laughed, but she looked sad. "Bella, you should know by now that they can't keep anything from us."

I opened my mouth to answer, closed it, opened it again, and then burst into tears. She cooed in distress and hopped up to put her arm around my shoulders. "Yeah right—they can't—keep anything from us," I gasped out between sobs, covering my face with my hands. "Paul can keep—his whole damn  _self—_ from me!"

When I got to "me," a flare of anger exploded my self-control. I swept my arm across the table and knocked off my place setting; my teacup went flying across the room and shattered in a corner. Cold horror froze my fury. I leaped to my feet, babbling out apologies and promises to pay, and grabbed a broom before Emily had even said anything. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I repeated, sweeping the pieces up and depositing them in the trash. "I can't believe I just did that. That was really bad. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Bella," Emily comforted, still standing next to my chair. "I know this has to be a terribly stressful time."

Her calm compassion just made me feel worse. I started crying again as I returned to hunch in my seat, wrapping my arms around my chest and rocking. "Oh no, oh no," Emily soothed, little hands fluttering like birds as they patted my shoulders and back.

" _He left me!"_  the other-me wailed, so intense it hurt my throat; the words sounded like a dirge. "He promised he wouldn't and  _he did!_ "

"Oh Bella, I can't even imagine, I'm so sorry—"

"I need him," I whimpered, back in control for the moment. "How can he do this to me?"

The water came to a boil just as I stopped talking. Emily poured it into the teapot and set the leaves to brew, then sat down opposite me once more. "I think," she said slowly, tracing a line in the table while she seemed to choose her words carefully, "that he is afraid of Jacob asking the exact same question when he finds out. And you know, Bella, even though I'm sure he loves you—he can't help it—he's loved Jacob longer." She giggled. "I mean, like a brother. You know that."

"Yes, I know that," I replied with a soggy laugh. "But, Emily, I can't . . . I can't sleep, anymore, because of the . . ." With horror, I realized what I was about to tell her and shut my mouth.

She gave me a look filled with understanding. "Bella. I  _know._ "

Right. She did know. Out of everyone in our acquaintance, Emily and Sam were the only two people who could really understand the inexorable pull toward each other, and the fallout from the force of imprinting.

"In our case, though, I was the one who fought it. Sam . . . didn't. He and Leah were already on the outs because of the phasing and him not being able to explain what was happening to him. I think it was a huge relief to have the need for secrecy lifted; he was so alone until he imprinted on me. I knew I couldn't win, but I tried anyway, for my pride's sake and because I just didn't want to deal with losing my best friend over a  _guy_. I mean, it's such a cliché, right? Every girl knows it's sisters before misters, and Leah really was like my sister." Emily checked the tea and then poured out. While I added sugar to mine, she went on, shaking her head, "It didn't matter. None of it mattered. It's like phasing—one choice removed after another."

I pressed my lips together. I really, really didn't like to hear that for Jacob's sake, but the sick, selfish part of me gave an evil whisper:  _Good._  I didn't know which me it was. I was afraid to know. "I'm so pissed off all the time," I said, trying to drown it out.

Emily gave a genuine laugh at that. "I think . . . Well, the thing that the council always says is that the imprinter becomes whatever the imprint needs.  _Whatever_  she needs. Do you think it's possible that maybe . . . Maybe you needed to get angry? They say depression is anger turned inward—maybe you needed the bond with Paul to turn it back out again? Of course, I don't for one minute believe that it's just for the imprint; I think we give them what they need too. Maybe you two balance each other out in the anger department. Just a thought."

I breathed through another flare of unreasonable irritation—what was she saying, how dare she call it depression, I was  _heartbroken_ , it was  _different_ —and thought about it. "Maybe," I said begrudgingly after a long moment. "I mean, for sure he needed some help controlling his temper."

"Oh, good, here's Sam," she said, turning to the door just before he came in.

"Emily," he said, and just as always grabbed her up and kissed her as if he'd been gone for a decade rather than an hour. I stared at the table in misery, holding my chest together, waiting for them to get it over with.

"Sam," she said, when her mouth was free again. "Bella's—"

"Right." He turned, keeping one arm around his fiancée, to face me. "Bella, how are you holding up?"

"Not good," I replied, trying to sound normal and failing. "I know he's not eating; I'm starving all the time, and it makes me so scared. What if he gets too weak? How would anyone find him? And he's got to be exhausted and lonely, plus there's the chance he'll get caught by a vampire all alone and not be able to take care of it. And I'm so tired because I keep on waking up in the middle of the night calling him; I can hardly think at school anymore. And what about Victoria? The pack needs him! I need him!"

Sam sighed deeply. "All right. I'll show him what you just said; hopefully it'll work to hear it secondhand through my mind. I tried to Alpha order him but there's something about this imprint business that's blocking my authority with Paul—either he thinks you need to be kept safe from him, or something else, I don't know what. It's definitely not his concern about Jacob that's keeping me out; that pales next to you, although it's still there."

The news that Paul cared about me more than he did about Jacob's friendship shouldn't have made me happy. I tried not to hear that same greedy whisper in my head:  _Good. Mine._  "Please tell him I need him to come home," I begged, speaking over the sound of my insanity, and started crying again. "If that doesn't work—I don't know what I'll do—" God, when had I gotten so  _emotional_? Probably another side-effect of the imprint; I couldn't hide anything anymore, or not nearly as much. Well, imprinting and sleep deprivation.

Emily crossed the room to put her arm around my shoulders and spoke to Sam. "If that doesn't work, you'll have to do what we discussed before." Sam nodded reluctantly.

"What's that?" I asked, grabbing my napkin and blotting at my face.

Sam replied, looking as if he'd sucked on a lemon. "I'll have to send Jacob and one of the others after him to bring him back; either that, or go myself and leave Jacob in charge."

"No!" I sat up straighter. "No, you can't leave Jake exposed like that. He could get hurt if you're not here."

Sam laughed. I scowled in response, but he scoffed, "Bella, don't you know that Jacob, by all rights, should be in charge? He can handle it, whether or not he wants to. It'll be good practice. One day he'll be grown and it  _will_ be his job, because I'm going to step down eventually."

"That's not fair," I grumbled, turning my glare on the table.

When Sam answered, his voice had gone grim. "Nothing about being a werewolf is fair."

To that, I could only say, "I know."

  


( * * * )

  


That night, as I cooked dinner for Charlie, my whole body was restless. I couldn't sit still. When I ate the spaghetti I prepared, I leaned against the counter, jiggling my foot. Charlie didn't seem to notice; he always ate in front of the TV anyway.

After I finished cleaning up, I tried to read  _Wuthering Heights,_ or rather re-read it, but even the high drama of Catherine and Heathcliff's doomed love couldn't capture my attention. I ended up pacing back and forth in my room, holding the book in front of my nose. The movement helped me focus for a little bit, but then the throbbing between my legs grew too painful to overlook. I tried desperately to ignore it—wasn't one crying jag per night enough? I didn't think I could handle two, or my eyes couldn't—but after Charlie knocked on my door to say goodnight, I grabbed my things up and headed to the shower, surrendering to the inevitable.

I put it off for as long as I could, anyway, pretending to myself that the water temperature wasn't right and that I had to find a different face wash before I got in, but I could only delay for so long. Grumbling to myself, I climbed into the water and slipped my hand into the already-slick folds between my legs. As soon as I began to stroke my clit, my spine sparked with the familiar burn and I gasped with unwilling hope. This was the first time I'd felt it since Paul had left—maybe it had worked. Maybe Sam's orders had performed the desired effect this time. Maybe my appeals had brought him home.

I waited, but nothing else happened except that the aching grew worse. I knew from experience that if I didn't come soon, I'd be in agony—it wasn't like normal arousal, which faded if ignored; no, this grew and grew until I was forced to take action. I pressed the heel of my hand to where the pain was worst, and that was all it took: I groaned out Paul's name as the orgasm crashed through my body. Panting and trembling, I waited again, this time for the crying to start . . . But it didn't.

The bathroom door opened, though.

"Dad, I'm in—" I began to warn, but the heat in my back flared up to bonfire levels, searing away my voice. I heard the door close, and ripped the shower curtain back.

Paul stood before me, shoulders hunched, breath coming in shuddering gasps. He was stark naked; a cut on his leg that hadn't had a chance to heal over oozed blood, but for some reason the smell didn't make me ill. He had dirt streaked all across his skin and—were those burrs?—vegetation in his hair, and he was far, far too thin for his own good, even though his muscles were just as cut as ever. He met my eyes. Sam must have lifted the order out of exasperation or to force Paul's hand.

My heart raced; my lungs dragged in air as I stared at him. Paul's face was a bizarre mix of shame, longing and eagerness. I knew my own probably didn't look much different. It seemed like I should be way more angry, but I couldn't muster it up. I was just ecstatic he'd come back.

I didn't know what I would say until my mouth opened and I heard the words. "Oh, Paul," my voice said. "Come here and let me take care of you."

His features contorted with the strength of his emotions. Moving so fast I couldn't track him, he got into the shower with me and pulled me into an embrace, hiding his face against my hair.

"I couldn't do it anymore," he almost sobbed next to my ear. "I couldn't, I can't, I need you too damn much, I hate this, I hate myself, I hate that I'm going to make him hate me too and I can't fucking stop myself anyway, because I think you need me and I can't figure out why the fuck you do, because you  _should_ need him. And look at you, you're way too skinny  _still_ and it's because of me; I'm such a dick." His voice wavered from almost-sob into a definite sob on the last word; he held me tighter so that I could barely breathe.

I caressed his hair and his back, trembling with delight and relief as we pressed skin to skin under the water. "Paul," I said, so happy it sounded like I was laughing. His only reply was a wordless whimper.

Seeing him like this filled me with confidence. This was something I'd known how to do before I moved to Forks and got involved with forces beyond my capacity to match. I took care of my mother. I took care of everyone. I could take care of him, too. Moving cautiously, afraid I'd frighten him away again, I put shampoo in my hand and began washing his hair while he clutched my waist and kept his face hidden. "Here," I directed, "let me rinse this off and we'll wash the rest of you." Obediently, he stepped back so that his head was in the spray (barely; good thing Charlie had installed the showerhead at least a foot too high for normal people), but his hands never moved from where they grasped me.

Okay, I could work with that. I used my washcloth—I figured he wouldn't care—to clean his body; instead of getting him to turn around, I just reached my arms behind him to wash whatever I could of his back. When I knelt to get his legs and feet, he moved his hands finally, but only to rest on my head. As I worked my way back up, I saw that he was fully aroused. Without thought, I kissed the head of his cock. He flinched and inhaled sharply. I stood and reached behind him again to turn off the water. "Come on. Let's get you dried off."

I toweled him off, then myself, and brushed my teeth. "I think we might have a spare toothbrush around here," I mused, opening the cabinet beneath the sink.

Paul cleared his throat. "Can I use yours?"

It didn't sound like he was suggesting an alternative, more like he requested a favor. I handed it over.

At last, we both got into my bed, naked, and I shut off my light. I waited for a minute or two to see what he'd do, but he just lay beside me, breathing fast, as if he were waiting to see what  _I_ would do. He was still hard; I reached and grasped his erection gently, running my fingers all the way from bottom to top. He threw his head back and gritted his teeth, putting his hand over mine and squeezing.

Well, that was encouraging. I got up, knelt between his legs and did it again. His hips bucked; he cursed. It was nice to know I didn't have to do too much, to turn him on as much as he did me; it kind of evened the odds between us a little. Paul ran his free hand down my side, resting it on my hip. His eyes glittered with love and lust as he watched me in the dark.

And then I leaned up and over him and bit his chin.

Bit his chin? What the hell, Bella?

He liked it, though; his breathing sped up even more and he dug his fingers into my shoulders as if to hold me steady. I licked the marks my teeth had left in silent apology—they filled in before I'd finished running my tongue over them—and licked his neck, too. When he gasped in response, I thought I might come just from knowing I had that sort of effect on him.

I'd had weeks to imagine the things I'd like to do with him—and to him, to persuade him to stay if he ever came back—and I'd researched online, a  _lot_ , because I was the kind of girl who liked to be informed. I wasn't sure I could do it, though. Scary, scary, scary, but even more scary was the possibility that he might leave me again. If I did this—if I showed him I would do  _anything_  for him—maybe he'd stick around.

I bent, and took him into my mouth. Paul made another noise, and muttered, "Fuck," as I slid down. He was too big for me to take all the way in—yet, I knew there was something I could do about that but I couldn't remember what, and this was scary enough without worrying about gagging—so I wrapped my hand around whatever my mouth couldn't reach and moved up again, then licked the top in a circle. He cursed again, so I figured that was the right way to do it. After a few awkward tries, I finally got a rhythm going, licking and sucking, and he moved his hands to my hair, not pushing but just holding on and cursing in a nonstop undertone so softly I could barely hear him. His helpless response was unbearably erotic. I put my free hand back between my legs and rocked against it as I moved up and down on him.

It wasn't long before his grip grew tighter and he warned me, "Isabella, I'm gonna come." I wasn't surprised; the time away from each other had made us both desperate. I looked up at his face and stopped what I was doing long enough to tell him, "I don't mind," and then went back to what I was doing. Within seconds, he convulsed, groaning my name, and came in my mouth. That was grosser than I expected, but I just swallowed as fast as possible and licked him one more time. Paul grabbed me and pulled me up to his level so he could kiss me. I held onto his head and kissed him back, but I was aching again.

He flipped me onto my back and, so quickly I didn't have a chance to get embarrassed or tell him to stop on his way down, licked the flesh between my legs from bottom to top. I arched my back, trying not to scream—oh my God, his tongue was so  _hot_ —and he did it again, then fastened his lips around my clit and sucked while slipping two fingers inside me and angling them upward.

Now it was my turn to get helpless; I could hardly breathe but I could still beg, "Please please please please Paul, please . . ."

I was so close, but something wouldn't let me finish; there was a wall there. I clenched my fists into the sheets. "Paul," I groaned, "Paul, Paul, don't leave me again, don't ever leave me  _again_ ," while his fingers moved in and out and his mouth worked on me. Tears of frustration and fear sprang into my eyes as I realized something: the last time we'd slept together, he'd taken over my mind and my body. This time, he was back for my heart, but I couldn't give it until he promised I had his, too. It was too scary, it was too much. I sobbed once and bit my lip.

Finally, he pulled away, leaning his head against my thigh and moving his thumb to the right spot instead, and answered, "I won't leave again." I felt a different sort of wetness between his cheek and my leg, and looked to see that he was crying too. He added, sounding like every word was being forcibly dragged from his throat, "I  _can't_ leave you," and that was what sent me over the edge; I came so hard I almost passed out, clutching the hand he had inside me with both of my own and curling up off the bed before I collapsed back again.

He crawled up beside me and kissed my mouth again—weird-tasting, but okay—and, still in that shaky whisper, told me, "I missed you so goddamned much, Isabella." He stroked my hair back, out of my eyes; his hands were shaking too.

I kissed him all over his face, holding it between my hands. "Lie down and go to sleep," I implored. "You're exhausted."

Obediently, he lay down on his back. I threw one arm and leg over him, but that wasn't enough; I ended up scooting over until I sprawled on his stomach and chest, my head next to his on his pillow. He wrapped one arm around me, sliding down and turning his head so that his face was partly covered by my shoulder—it looked uncomfortable, but he smiled against my skin as his body went limp.

" _My_ Paul," I said softly, closing my eyes.

"Yours _,_ " he agreed. " _All_ yours."

We fell asleep like that and didn't stir all night long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: "Window Blues" by Lykke Li.


	8. In Which Paul Provides Some History

The sounds of the front door slamming and Charlie's cruiser pulling away from the house woke me. I lifted my head to peer at the clock. Eight in the morning. Jeez, why did he have to get up that early every weekend? It wasn't like the fish wouldn't still be in the water at noon.

When I put my head back down, I saw Paul looking at me. I scooted back a little so we were on the same level and didn't have our eyes crossed from being too close. "How're you feeling?" I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. My leg still overlapped his waist, pinning us together at our sides.

His mouth didn't smile, but his eyes were happy. "Okay. Starved."

"Me too." I didn't want to move, but we both had to eat, and I didn't want to speculate about the quality of culinary skills he had or hadn't developed with a mother who worked swing shift and no dad. Probably he thought Hot Pockets counted as cooking. "How do you like your eggs?"

He shook his head. "You don't have to make me anything. Cereal's fine." He began stroking my back, from my shoulder to my rear and back up again, with one hand.

I leaned forward to kiss the corner of his jaw. "I like to cook. It's fun. Don't take my fun away." I giggled. "Plus I think the only cereal we've got is All-Bran, and that's just nasty. I wouldn't feed it to a dog, let alone a wolf. Charlie bought it right after Harry's heart attack, and I don't think he's even opened the box."

Now he did smile. "All right, you've convinced me. I like my eggs scrambled, but you have to at least let me help." He kissed my forehead. The hand that had been on my back fastened on my ass and pulled me even more tightly to his side.

My heart wanted to pound right out of my chest to get to him. "I'll let you crack the shells . . ." I tried to say, but I couldn't really talk. My hips angled up. I rubbed myself against his leg.

Quick as a thought, he flipped me to my back and started sucking my earlobe, and then planted feverish, open-mouthed kisses across my jaw and down my neck. "You want to eat later?" he asked, and sucked on my shoulder before working back up to my ear.

"Uh-huh." My own mouth was busy, nipping and sucking on whatever skin I could reach on him. I grasped one of his nipples and pulled lightly while I scraped my teeth along the muscles in his neck. "God, it feels so good to be able to breathe again. Don't stop."

He did stop, though. I whimpered and pouted up at him, but his face had gone serious. "Breathe again?"

I shrugged. "Oh. Yeah. Um, remember, on the cliff? I told you then I hadn't been able to breathe in a really long time."

He nodded, brown eyes somber. "Yeah, but then you could again, right? I thought that's what you said."

I sighed, closing my eyes. This was going to sound really dumb. "I could . . . until you left. And then it was like the same thing all over again. If you leave, and I know you're not coming back, I can't breathe, my heart's gone, I can't sleep . . . I'm cold, too."

Paul made an indeterminate sound in the back of his throat, and asked, "Are you telling me . . . this whole time . . ."

I opened my eyes again. His jaw was set tight, and his expression had turned miserably guilty. "Don't," I whispered, raising my hand to rest against his cheek. "Don't be sad."

He buried his face into the crook of my neck. "I thought it was just me who was . . . shit. I'm so sorry," he said, voice muffled. He embraced me so tightly that my newly returned lungs were almost no good to me for a moment. When I gasped a little, though, he loosened his grip.

I stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head. "It's okay. You didn't know. It's all really weird and new, right? We're bound to make some mistakes while we figure it out. And you came back, so I'm okay." I froze with sudden fear as a new worry struck me. My voice came out high-pitched and quavering. "Wait. You meant it, right? You meant it when you said you can't leave me?"

"Oh yeah," he replied, sad, resigned, and relieved all at once. I relaxed. He still didn't lift his head. "I meant it."

I frowned as a thought occurred to me. "So wait. If you didn't know that . . . then Sam didn't talk to you yesterday?"

"He tried but I blocked him out. Ever since the imprint it's gotten easier and easier to do that, especially since that last time we fucked . . . before I left for Canada?"

"Oh, right. I felt better after that time. I had this headache . . ." I wrapped my legs around him. "So you were coming back anyway."

"I started back yesterday morning. I had to go slow, though. I haven't been able to sleep either, and I'm weak from not eating—weak for me, I mean, compared to most guys I'm pretty fucking ripped still. A couple times I caught some leech tracks and had to go around. I wasn't sure I could take them out on my own. I could feel you, though. That made it easier, almost like a homing signal or GPS or something." He raised his head finally to frown down at me. "How did you make me hear you, at night? I don't remember Sam ever hearing Emily's voice in his head. It was like you were standing there next to me, saying my name. And I could _feel_ you, where you were, like you shot off a flare. It happened around the same time every night."

I bit my lip and flushed, then blushed again, and then felt a final tsunami of crimson overtake my entire upper body. I probably looked like a ketchup packet. "Um . . ."

He raised his eyebrows. "What? Why are you embarrassed? I think it's pretty damn cool that you can do that."

"It's cool that you heard me," I agreed faintly. "I'm not sure how it worked, though."

"Well, what were you doing? Do you remember?"

Oh, I remembered, every single humiliating time. "Yeah . . ." I said reluctantly.

Paul waited. He should have been impatient, but instead he just seemed as if he'd be content to wait for me to speak for the rest of his life. His gaze moved constantly over my features. I got the impression that he was examining tiny changes in my expression and filing away their causes for future reference.

I should have been able to come up with an alternative explanation, but my powers of invention failed me. Finally, I sighed. Screw it. He might as well know how pathetic I got without him. Maybe then it would seal the deal on the whole "not leaving Bella" thing. "I was . . . I was . . . " Unable to spit out the words, I grasped his hand and tilted so we had room enough for me to slide it between my legs.

Almost automatically, he began to circle my clit with his thumb, making me gasp and twitch as if he'd electrocuted me. An incredulous grin spread across his face. "Are you serious? You were taking care of _yourself_? Did you really say my name?"

I narrowed my eyes at him—not easy, considering how good he was making me feel. "Yes, I said your name, you conceited jerk. Right before I cried for an hour. Every damn time. It wasn't my idea. The imprint made me do it."

Now it was his turn to twitch, but in his case from guilt again. "Shit. I'm such an asshole."

His hand stopped; I gave it a push with my own to start it up again. I'd been wet since the second I woke up, and I needed him to take care of it. "I'll forgive you as long as you don't— _unh_ —" as he slid a finger inside me, "Don't stop doing that. Oh, God, that's _so_ good. Trust me; I like you doing it much more."

"I know I should feel guilty," he told me, lowering his head to my breast, "And I do, but . . ." He lapped at one nipple, and I squeaked, arching up against him. "Goddamn, thinking about you doing that is fucking hot."

The unvarnished words turned me on even more. It couldn't be more different from before, when I'd always felt slutty asking for a kiss. Edward—

As if Paul could sense my mind going to the name, he fastened his mouth on my nipple and sucked _hard_ , hard enough to leave fresh marks and completely distract me. "Paul," I gasped, digging my nails into his arms. "That hurt."

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, before licking his way up to my neck.

I thought about that for half a second and blurted, "No. Go back."

"You're so fucking sexy." I looked down to see him grinning as he moved to my other breast.

Nobody had ever called me sexy before. I really, _really_ liked it. I ran my hands up and down his chest and shoulders; too thin or not, he was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Apparently my standards had changed. Two more fingers slid inside me, and I practically begged, "Paul. Paul, _please."_

"Please what?" he asked. He knew, though. He smirked as I glared down at him.

"Oh, nothing," I huffed, and crossed my legs, hard, stopping the movement of his hand.

He glanced down, and back up at me, and the smirk changed into a genuine smile that made his eyes light up. "You're really cute, Isabella."

Something about the way he said it made my bones melt . . . and my thighs go lax, which was all the opportunity he needed to move between them and push into me, and oh, yes, now I could really, truly believe he was home. I wrapped my arms and legs around him as tightly as they would hold on, and reached up to kiss his chest, which was just at my mouth level when we were like this. Paul slid his arms under me and cradled the back of my head with both hands, rubbing my temples with his thumbs as he slid in and out. He shifted his angle a little bit, lowering one hand to drag my leg up higher, and started hitting a new place inside of me that was unbelievably sensitive. I practically cringed with pleasure every time he dragged across the spot.

A mewling sound came out of my mouth; I'd never heard that one before, but it seemed to electrify Paul. He shuddered, growled, then said rough-voiced, "You make me so crazy." He slammed into me so hard it almost hurt. Almost, but not quite, and then I didn't feel anything but the orgasm that made me sob and go weak in his arms. He came with me, holding me close enough that I practically couldn't tell where I ended and he began—that line was getting blurrier on lots of different levels.

After he cleaned us both up, he kissed me on my nose. "You get really flushed when you come. It's cute."

I wrinkled my nose at him. "That's twice you've called me cute in ten minutes. C'mon, let me make you breakfast." I got up and started getting dressed, and then realized he didn't have any clothes. "Hold on a second." After digging around in Charlie's drawers I came up with some board shorts that were only a little too big—clearly my dad had bought them in a fit of insanity—probably when they went on seventy-five percent off at Target—since they were totally not his style. They looked pretty good on Paul, though, once he put them on.

We headed downstairs and I started pulling stuff out of the fridge. Paul found a mixing bowl and cracked about six eggs into it.

"Are we gonna be able to eat all that?" I asked doubtfully, staring at the yolks.

He gave me a sideways smile. "These are for you, buddy."

"I'm not going to be—" I started, then closed my mouth when I realized that, yeah, I probably would, at least until he wasn't famished anymore. I put back the pan I usually used for breakfast and broke out the big cast-iron skillet instead. While he whisked the eggs, I started chopping onions and peppers. "You look like you've done that before," I noted.

"My mom taught me how to cook. My Diana mom, I mean."

I shook my head in confusion. "Your Diana mom?" I looked at him and the knife slipped in my hand. He snatched it away by the blade just as I felt the edge touch my finger.

"Jesus, Isabella, watch the fuck out for yourself!" he snapped. He'd squeezed the knife too hard in his hurry and cut himself. Blood dripped between his fingers onto the floor. "Son of a bitch." He cast the knife down on the counter, and went to the sink to rinse off his hand.

I waited for the usual blood-induced lightheadedness to set in, but it didn't, so I rushed next to him instead. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fucking fine. Let me see your goddamn finger," he barked out with an irate scowl. I stared at him in bewilderment. What on earth had happened to him? Hesitantly, I raised my hand for his inspection. He turned it every which way with his uncut hand, finally finding the miniscule scratch on my index finger; it wasn't even bleeding. I held my breath, bracing myself for his reaction. He only lifted my finger to his mouth and kissed it. It was on the same arm as my vampire-bite scar, so he kissed that too. The soft brush of his lips sent a jolt right through me.

Oh, right. Now I remembered. Scared equaled angry for Paul. "Hey." I rubbed his arm soothingly, stepping closer. The closer we were, the calmer he got, which might explain why he was such a sweetheart in bed. "Hey. It's okay. I'm okay. You saved me from another E.R. trip. Let me see your hand?"

He shut off the water and held his hand out. The only remnant of the cut was a rapidly fading pink line. "Told you I was fine."

"Okay, so we're both fine." I smiled up at him. "Can we get back to the food?"

"Yeah, but I'm doing the chopping this time." He washed the knife off and then started cutting the vegetables again, but at ten times the rate I could have managed. Dumb werewolf speed. I grabbed a paper towel and wiped the blood up from the floor. "Yeah, my Diana mom. She's not my real mom. I mean, she's my real mom but not my birth mom."

After tossing the paper towel, I put butter in the pan and added the stuff from the cutting board he handed me. "So you're adopted?"

"Yeah, from foster care. She was my foster mom first."

"Wow. So what happened to your, um, what-do-you-call-them, birth parents or whatever?" He was silent for so long, watching me stir the food with my spatula, that I thought he wouldn't answer. "If you don't want to talk about it, it's fine, I don't—"

"No, it's okay," he said, but he didn't look like it was okay. "It's just fucked up, that's all. My mom's in prison. My dad beat us up when he got drunk. So he beat us up all the time, or when we couldn't run, anyway. One day he broke my arm and stabbed me in the stomach, so she killed him. Loaded up his shotgun and blasted him when he passed out on the floor. I saw the whole thing. Then she took me to the E.R. and that's where the cops found her."

He told the whole thing in a monotone, speaking so rapidly I almost couldn't understand the words. When the sense of them sank in, I felt as if I'd been dipped in ice for the first time since he came back. I held myself immobile, afraid of giving the wrong reaction. He looked at the floor.

 _Selfish little leech fucker . . ._ he'd known, then, how easy it was for life to be lost. One blink and it was gone forever, and you couldn't get your own back either, and I had almost made him watch it happen again. __

After a second, I swallowed and managed to say, "I'm so, so sorry."

"Yeah. It sucked. That's why . . . She told me she did it for me. Because I was the only thing she had left, her only child, and that's what he was going to take from her."

So, on the one hand, she'd done it for him: that had to be good, that he knew she had finally stood up for him. On the other hand, she'd killed his dad, on his behalf. That . . . had to be terrible. I could _feel_ how terrible it still was for him. Going on the "closer is better" theory, I reached to hug him. The awful tension vibrating out of him, into my gut, eased in response; after a second, he hugged me back and sighed.

I ran my fingers over his stomach. "No scar?"

"It disappeared the first time I phased. Good fucking riddance." His hand moved to his side and rubbed. It looked like it was an unconscious action.

I tilted my head to try to see his face. I couldn't read his expression. He kind of just looked like he was concentrating on his feet. "So you went to foster care? Was she really mean?"

He smiled at that. "Nah, that's TV foster parents. Some of the real-life ones are okay. My Diana mom's better than okay. She was one of my real mom's best friends. Native kids have to be placed with Native families unless the tribe gives permission to the state for them to leave, but nobody had any room or time until she offered to go through the training. If she hadn't, I might have had to leave the rez."

"How old were you?"

"Eight."

I nodded and turned back to the skillet, trying as hard as I could to breathe evenly while I mechanically stirred. He didn't seem to want to talk about it anymore—not that he'd wanted to talk about it at all—but I waited a few minutes to be sure before saying, "Crack the eggs you'll want, okay?"

He kissed the top of my head before obeying.

It didn't take long to wrap things up and serve. After we'd almost finished eating, he asked, "What are you doing today?"

"Nothing much. I was going to go up to La Push later, after I studied for a while. I don't have work till tomorrow. What are you doing? Can you stay?"

He swallowed before answering. "No, I'd better check on my mom and make sure she's okay. This isn't the first time I've run away, but it's the longest. She's probably worried."

I laughed a little. "Yeah, I'd say that's a safe bet. So, check on your mom. Anything else on the agenda?"

"I have to make up my schoolwork. My online stuff has more flexible deadlines but I have tribal school classes that are gonna be a bitch to catch up on. I'll need to get started on that. And then there's the whole thing with Jacob." The instant he said the name, my heart sped up until it felt like it would burst. He jerked his head up—of course he heard—and stared at me. "You knew we were going to have to tell him."

"Yeah," I answered, but the word sounded sick. I sat up straighter as a thought occurred to me. "Or . . . No, wait. Maybe we don't."

He shook his head in bafflement. "What the fuck do you mean?"

"You said . . . you said that Sam couldn't get through to you, because you blocked him out. Do you think you could do that to Jacob?"

Paul's eyebrows formed a straight line across his forehead. "Why the hell would I do that, Isabella?"

"So that you guys don't fight! So that—so that he isn't mad at me!" I couldn't believe I had admitted that motivation to him. It was like I _had_ to tell him the truth.

Paul looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you fucking kidding me? You want me to lie to my pack brother about us so that he doesn't get _mad_ at you? What's your plan, Isabella? You do realize that imprinting is forever, right? He might figure it out when we move in together in a year or two!"

I ignored the thrill those words gave me. "Yeah, but . . . " My mind was racing. "Maybe he'll imprint on someone else in the meantime. Or maybe he'll decide I'm not worth waiting for." He snorted derisively. "Or maybe—I don't know! I just know that . . . " I looked at him, pleading, "Paul. I _can't_ lose Jacob. I just can't. He's my best friend."

"He's your best friend, so you're going to lie to him," he said flatly. His face had gone completely blank. "Are you sure this isn't because you want to keep your _options_ open? I mean, he is going to be Alpha. There's a chance he could override the imprint if he decides he wants you, and that he's willing to fight me. Do you want him?"

I hopped to my feet, shaking my head frantically. "No! How can you even think that? Do you honestly think I'd sleep with you and wish you were Jacob instead?"

"I don't know what to fucking think!" he roared, jumping to his feet too. "I mean, you're sitting here telling me to lie to almost everyone I know so that you don't have a spat with your BFF! Are you embarrassed to be with me? Is that it?"

"No. No!" I walked to him and put my hands up on his chest, trying to reassure him. "No, that's not it, I swear to God, Paul, I just really, really, don't want to have Jacob dump me. I need him." Too late, I realized what I'd said and clapped one hand over my mouth. "Oh no."

Paul was breathing hard. His hands trembled. "I have to go." He headed for the back door.

"No, wait, Paul, don't leave again—" I begged, following him through the kitchen.

"You do _not_ want to get too close to me right now," he warned, yanking the door open and spinning to glare at me. "You want me to live a lie for you? Fine. I'll do it. I don't have a goddamn choice because, shit, I can tell that it's what you need even if you don't say it, not that you stopped yourself. But you'd better make up your mind about when you're gonna let Jake in on the fact that his chances have gone to nil, because if he finds out from anyone else but the two of us, you are _fucked._ People on the rez love Jacob; they barely tolerate me, and if you hurt him like that to be with me, then they're not going to be all open arms and 'welcome to the tribe, imprint.'"

I quailed back from the rage emanating in heated waves from his body; I could feel it as clearly as if I were the one who was angry. "I don't want you to be mad at me either."

"Too late." He started heading for the woods behind the house, untying Charlie's shorts as he went. They dropped to the ground. He didn't miss a stride as he walked out of them. "I'm so fucking pissed off I can barely hold myself human right now."

I ran to stand in the open doorway. "Paul!"

"What?"

I stood in silence until he swung around at the edge of the trees to look at me, somehow managing not to look ridiculous even standing in the shadows stark naked. I tried to speak, couldn't find the right words, and pressed my lips together in frustration with myself. Finally I decided just to say it. "I missed you. I'm glad you're back. I'm sorry I'm such a pain in the ass."

All the fight went out of him as I spoke. His shoulders relaxed; I saw him sigh. After a moment, he said, "Come here," and I shivered. I would never be able to hear him say those two words again without remembering our first time. I trotted across the yard to where he waited. He hesitated when I drew up in front of him, but then he pulled me into an embrace. I wrapped my arms around him and breathed him in.

Paul put his hands to either side of my face and bent down to kiss me. I opened my mouth and let him in, sucking on his tongue, which made me wish I could jump him again. When he lifted his head, he looked a little less grim. One corner of his mouth pulled up the slightest bit as he said, "I'm sorry you're such a pain in the ass too. Good thing I'm used to being one myself; I can give you pointers." I smiled and lifted my hands to lay over his. "Listen, buddy. We'll figure this out. We can try your way, but I don't think you'll like how it ends. Just . . . think about maybe being honest, okay? Jacob will hate that you're with me, but he'll hate that you lied to him even more. He trusts you."

"Okay," I responded. "I'll see you tonight?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, if you're in La Push it's a safe bet I'll find you. Hell, I'd find you if you were in Russia."

"Good." I turned my head to kiss one of his hands. " _My_ Paul."

" _All_ yours," he agreed, not sounding the slightest bit distressed by the fact. He stepped back, and then leaped away, his body twisting and stretching into his wolf form mid-air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: "Killing Lies" by the Strokes.


	9. In Which Bella Attends a Bonfire

By the time I drove up to La Push that evening, the news of Paul's return had spread. Embry and Quil were already in the garage when I arrived, but for the first time in days there were no sullen silences or furrowed brows. Instead, when they saw me come in, they tumbled over each other to greet me.

"Bells!"

"Bellaroo!"

"Belloney!"

I lifted my hands defensively as the big bodies crowded around me, but I smiled while I did so. It was impossible _not_ to smile; their faces beamed from ear to ear.

"Paul's back—" Quil blurted.

"That's great!" I exclaimed, trying to control my own expression and failing. That was _way_ too enthusiastic for the return of a guy who supposedly couldn't stand me, especially when I already knew, but none of them seemed to notice.

"So Emily wants to celebrate—" Embry continued.

"And we're going to have a bonfire tomorrow since it's supposed to stop raining by noon," Jacob finished. "You're coming, right?"

"Yeah, as soon as I get off work at six I'll drive up," I assured him. I let the strange awareness that flowed between Paul and me reach out, seeing if he was anywhere close, but I didn't feel anything. He must be at his home, probably getting chewed out by his mom or buried under a mountain of textbooks. "What are you guys doing?"

"Talking about the redhead, what else?" Jacob replied, turning back to the Rabbit and grabbing a screwdriver. "She crossed the boundary _again_ last night. We keep on losing her in the water and it's driving us crazy."

I collapsed on the couch. "How far did she get?"

"Are you kidding me?" Quil exclaimed. "She got one foot onto the rez and we were all over that bitch like white on a vamp. She can't get through us, especially now that Paul's here and Leah's playing running back—the bloodsucker has to know she can't win. I don't get why she doesn't give up."

"I don't think she can," Embry said thoughtfully. The rest of us looked at him inquiringly. "It's just . . . Bella, you said that she's trying to get revenge for her mate, right?" I nodded. "Well, I bet vampires mate for . . . life or whatever you want to call it. Maybe he was her only chance. Maybe she'll be alone forever anyway so she doesn't care about anything else anymore."

I nodded, thinking about it. "That sounds right. The . . . the _Cullens_ were like that." Jacob gave me a half-concerned, half puzzled glance as I said it. I swallowed hard against the pain the name caused, but my heart kept thudding away—it knew I held it in trust for Paul now. "So maybe she's hoping you'll put her out of her misery."

"I'd be happy to do that sort of favor for a leech," Jacob said, leaning under the hood to mess with something I couldn't see. "All she has to do . . . " He lifted out a frayed rubber belt. "Is ask."

"Yeah, but she still wants to take Bella out first," Quil mused. "There should be some way we can use that."

"What, like as bait?" Jacob demanded, whirling on him and glaring.

"No, no!" Quil hastily assured him, with a nervous glance in my direction. "Of course not. Not again. It's just that maybe we can make the leech think Bella's somewhere vulnerable and ambush her, you know? Somewhere off the rez. It'd be tough because of the smell factor, though."

"If we could get something that smells like . . . _him_ , and add it to Bella's scent, then we might be able to trick her. She's pretty obsessive so she might not be careful if she thinks it's him," Jacob said, forehead wrinkled in thought. He looked at me. "Bells, do you have anything—"

"No," I interrupted. A wave of dizzy nausea swept over me at the thought. I wasn't anywhere close to recovered enough to think about this for long, but . . . I sat up straighter as another notion occurred to me. "But I know where there might be something." They all perked up. "They moved out of their house really quickly. They probably left their stuff. If you guys could break in there, I bet you could find something you could use." I squashed the guilt that tried to grow in response to the idea. The Cullens wouldn't return for a few decades at least. By that time whatever things they'd left would likely be moth-ridden and useless anyway.

"Or maybe . . . " Embry trailed off. We waited impatiently. After a few moments he continued, "Maybe we could convince her that Bella's at their house. That might be a good place to jump her. It's isolated enough that we wouldn't be risking any regular people finding out about us, but it's got that wall of windows so there's lots of room to see her coming. Plus it's in the middle of the woods, and we'd have plenty of approaches and retreats open."

I wondered idly how he knew about the wall of windows, but I was too busy trying to breathe to ask him.

"The only problem with that idea is . . ." Now it was Quil's turn to stop talking mid-thought. All three of the boys studiously avoided my gaze.

After a moment, Jacob said, "No. We'll think of something else. I bet Sam's come up with an idea since last night. Let's ask him."

"It's okay," someone else said from my mouth. I frowned. The other-me was getting stronger and stronger. Someday she might turn into real-me and I wouldn't remember who I'd been before . . . But maybe that was a good thing. Real-me had a tendency to act catatonic when bad things happened. "I can do it. I can go."

 _Really?_ I asked the other-me. _Really? You can go? How are you going to do that without me?_

In answer, my voice continued, "But I need Paul to come with me."

The boys frowned too. "Why?" Jacob asked finally.

"Because . . . " Great. _Now_ she let me talk and I had to come up with a cover story for my crazy. Fumbling for an explanation, I stammered out, "B-because he hasn't been there the past four times you guys have fought her, and I bet she won't recognize his scent. Especially since he'll be in human form, right? I mean, you don't want me to go there by myself, but you can't go there and make the whole place reek like you either."

It was a pretty weak justification, especially since there was no reason for Victoria to know what any of the rest of them smelled like in human form either, but they had no cause to suspect me of hiding anything.

"That might work," Jacob said, after he thought some more and Embry and Quil raised no objection. "We should run it by Sam."

Sam would know exactly why I needed Paul, but then again that might work in my favor. He could understand my obsession like no one else except Emily and Paul. "Okay, you do that," I said, and turned to pull my notebook out of the backpack I'd brought in with me. "I've got to do some Calculus. Quil, you wanna help?" I flashed him a teasing smile. Quil was good with money but not with more complex math.

"Yeah, right." He laughed at me.

Paul probably could have helped me. I looked at Jacob, who had Quil in a headlock while he pretended to check for a brain in there, and sighed. I couldn't have everything I wanted.

My backbone lit up and I turned my head to look out the door. Paul stood a short distance away in human form, hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. God, he was gorgeous. None of the other boys noticed him, or if they did, they gave no sign. I smiled at him. He jerked his chin up in acknowledgement and then faded back into the shadows.

When I went to bed, it felt empty and too big. I slept soundly, but I dreamed of having sex with Paul all night long. The dreams felt real, flashbacks to our actual encounters as well as new-to-me scenarios—I was almost sure one position wasn't actually possible but it _felt_ pretty awesome. When I woke up, I was well-rested, but I really, really hoped Charlie hadn't heard me say anything in my sleep. Talk about humiliating.

I put in my six hours at Newton's the next day—more hikers came in testifying about the giant bears in the woods, and when I suppressed a smile they got offended and left without buying anything, so Mike's mom was less than thrilled with my performance. Apparently I wouldn't be getting an Employee-of-the-Month plaque anytime soon. Following a quick trip to the grocery store after work, I headed up to La Push, going to the open area where the pack usually held their bonfires. Almost everyone else was already there. I looked for Paul but didn't see or feel anything.

"Bella!" Emily rushed with outstretched arms to give me a quick hug and kiss, and unburdened my hands of half the bags I carried. "What's this? You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know; I wanted to," I replied, unloading the contents onto the folding tables set up a little distance from the towering flames. "I figured the boys—and Leah—would want at least a bag of chips each for themselves, and you and I have to eat too, so—"

Emily's smile took over her face. "That is _so_ helpful of you; thank you."

She sounded surprised. I guessed I hadn't exactly been helpfulness personified during any of our previous encounters. Renée was right. I really needed to stop being such a drain on all the people around me. "Sure." Turning, I saw a few faces I hadn't expected. "Oh. Who's that with Jared?"

Emily's expression turned conspiratorial. "That's Kim." She leaned a little closer and murmured, "Jared _imprinted_ on her this week. He'd never noticed her before even though they sat next to each other in class for months. He just wanted to ask her for a spare pencil and when he looked in her eyes it was all over. Isn't that hilarious?"

I looked harder. The girl was pretty in the way that most girls my age were. She had a sweet, shy smile and nice skin, but she wasn't remarkable in the looks department or anything. Jared, however, looked completely entranced. When she moved, he leaned _into_ her motion, mirroring it back to her. When she glanced up at him, his eyes widened as if he were seeing her for the first time. I didn't remember Sam acting that way with Emily, and the necessity of hiding my connection with Paul made our experience a poor reference point. Maybe Jared was still getting used to the whole thing.

Just as I completed the thought, the familiar trail of fire shot up my spine. I spun on my heel so quickly I nearly fell, and had to catch myself on the table while my gaze flew to meet Paul's. He stood across the bonfire from me, watching me through the flames.

"Hey," I said to him, so quietly that I didn't think anyone but Emily could hear it. She glanced over at me, and then followed my line of sight to Paul. He wasn't smiling, but his eyes had gone soft as they traveled over my face and form. I guessed he was checking to make sure I was all right since we hadn't seen each other in twenty-four hours. "I'm okay," I told him, and only then realized I was leaning so far in his direction that my body was at an odd angle to the ground.

"Sam said . . . you don't want Jacob to know, yet?" Emily asked, so low that I could barely hear her.

I gave her a shamefaced glance, forcing myself to lean back, although I couldn't keep from looking right back again at Paul. "Um. Yeah. I guess you think it's pretty stupid, right?"

"I wouldn't say stupid," she replied thoughtfully. Of course she wouldn't say stupid. Emily was one of the kindest people I had ever met. "It does seem a little pointless, though, especially if you're going to be looking at each other like that."

"I can't lose Jacob," I whispered. "I can't. He's my best friend and he hates the werewolf thing so much anyway; this'll be just one more thing it's taken away from him and I can't stand it."

"Well, it's already done," Emily said reasonably. "As far as the council knows, imprinting is irrevocable. He'll find out eventually, Bella. He should probably hear it from you. Sam and I won't say anything, though. It's your news to tell."

Paul walked around the fire. Embry and Quil double-teamed him when he got about halfway to me, and he went down in a flailing pile of limbs. I laughed, watching them tumble around on the ground. Emily had one hand over her mouth in concern but she was laughing too. Paul managed to pin Embry's head down with one arm and twist to trap Quil at the waist with both of his legs.

"Give it up, assholes!" he barked with a grin. Quil backhanded him in the stomach. Paul grunted, but didn't let go.

"Fine!" the other two finally shouted in unison, and they all three picked themselves up, brushing off their clothes—they were actually wearing shirts tonight, although shoes were conspicuously absent. They came up to the table. I handed Quil and Embry their own full-size bags of chips and two-liters and tried not to shoo them away too obviously. Emily glanced from Paul to me and hustled in another direction.

I faced out, leaning back on the table and away from him, but I left my hand resting on the table. "I missed you," I said, so softly I almost couldn't hear myself. I couldn't take any chances with so many supernatural ears around.

Paul lay one hand down next to mine, pretending to reach for a paper plate. Our pinkies brushed. It felt like I had stuck my hand into the bonfire. "I dreamed about you all last night," he replied.

"I dreamed about you too," I confessed, feeling heat mount in my cheeks. "It was . . . pretty intense."

"Yeah."

I darted a glance his way at the same time as he looked at me. My knees turned to jelly at the look in his eyes. God, if I couldn't hold him again soon I was going to die. "When can you come back?" I blurted, redirecting my gaze back to the fire again. "I'd rather have real you than dream you."

"I'll come down tonight after my mom leaves for work," he said, almost before I'd finished speaking. It was so great to have a guy as eager to be with me as I was to be with him, and to know that it would never end because it _couldn't_. "I'll stay till it's time to leave for school, okay?"

I exhaled in relief, only realizing that I'd been carrying tension in my shoulders and stomach now that it drained away from the reassurance in his words. I really couldn't handle not touching him for this many hours in a row. "Okay. Good."

He reached around me to grab some hot dog buns. I shuddered with delight as his scent hit my nose. He froze for a bare instant, probably hearing my heartbeat speed up. In this position, he hid me from everyone else's view. I tilted my head and kissed his chest over his breastbone, and he sighed, soundlessly, leaning back to put the bread on his plate. As surely as I'd felt it leave my own body, I felt stress ebb away from his too.

" _My_ Paul," I whispered, and ducked away, brushing my fingertips across his thigh as I went.

I didn't have to hear him to know that he said it: " _All_ yours."

I took my place next to Jacob, eating three hot dogs to his seven (Paul ate ten) and one serving of everything else to his two (Paul had three of everything else). I watched Paul all night. He made dirty jokes and pounded on all comers and gave no indication that there was anything going on in his brain other than sex and food. The real Paul really was _my_ Paul, all mine and nobody else's, because no one else would ever know he existed if he kept this up. He must be really good at hiding his thoughts even when he was a werewolf.

I discovered I liked the idea of having the real Paul all to myself.

Billy had somehow managed to get to the open field in his wheelchair, and when the eating was over, everyone fell silent while he began to tell the story of the history of werewolves in the Quileute Nation. I only got to hear a little about Dokibatt the Transformer, though, before Sam appeared at my side.

"Bella," he murmured. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Jacob gave me a questioning look as I rose to my feet and dusted myself off, but I just smiled and shrugged as I followed Sam away from the circle.

Once we were out of earshot—werewolf earshot, which meant we had to go three times as far as normal from the others—Sam turned to me and smiled. "So. Paul's back. That has to be a relief."

I gave him an answering smile. "To you, too, I bet."

Sam ran a hand through his hair and heaved a gigantic sigh. "You have no idea. When one of them leaves—well, I guess I should say, 'when Paul leaves,' because he's the only one who's done it—I can't sleep, and my bones hurt, and my muscles ache. It feels like I need to run to get him all the time."

I grimaced. "I'm sorry. Being Alpha sucks."

"Yeah, well . . . He's back now." Sam seemed to gather his thoughts. "Jacob tells me that Embry had an interesting idea on how to capture Victoria, but it would require some participation from you. What do you think?"

"I kind of volunteered, actually," I said. "I mean, I didn't really mean to volunteer, but that's what came out of my mouth . . . And I mean, it's not like I don't want to do it." The other-me added, "As long as I have Paul with me."

Sam shot me a strange look. "You didn't mean to say it? That's interesting. It happens to Emily sometimes too. Usually it's because there's something I need that I don't know about, though. That doesn't seem to be the case here . . . "

"Except maybe it is," I speculated. "Maybe this is the best way to keep you all safe."

Sam lifted his eyebrows. "So, involuntary strategizing? That would be pretty cool. Billy might be right about imprinting keeping the pack strong if it's the case. It would mean imprints are more than just babymakers, too, which is an idea the council holds that I've never really liked."

I choked on absolutely nothing. "Baby—baby— _babymakers?_ " I managed to gasp after a moment.

Sam seemed to be fighting a laugh. "Yeah, that's one theory: imprinting is for breeding purposes. Old Quil thinks that the imprints bring necessary strengths into the pack through offspring."

I was going to collapse any second. "I don't want any kids! I'm only eighteen!"

"That's fine. No one's going to force you to give up birth control," he said in a strangled voice, and then he did laugh, a deep guffaw that had Jacob's and Paul's heads turning to see what the joke was.

I pouted a little. "Fine. It's just a really dumb idea. I like having words come out of my mouth without meaning to better than I like the idea of having _puppies_ for the pack. At least this way I can help a little."

"Okay. Well, do you have work tomorrow?"

"No, just school until a little after three."

"I'll send Paul down to meet you at the high school. You two can go to the vampires' house together. Make sure you touch as many things as possible. You might want to bring some clothes you don't mind leaving behind—put them in _his_ room."

I wondered how Sam knew not to say Edward's name, but my mind was occupied with other ideas. "Do you think it's possible to lead her there? Like, leave a trail of stuff that would draw her over to the right place? I know they always reacted to my hair pretty strongly."

"That's a possibility we'll need to explore," Sam said thoughtfully. "For now, let's make sure you get your scent every place in their house and around it that you can. Have you been there since they left?"

"Once." I hugged my chest in remembered anguish. "It was . . . empty. That was months ago though, and I didn't look inside."

"Okay. Well, she knows that you've revisited it, I'm sure, so I'll tell Paul to be careful." He glanced back to the group at the fire, and then back at me. "You . . . _are_ being careful, aren't you?"

"As careful as I can without giving up school," I answered, confused.

Sam looked like he was trying to find a way to say something he didn't like. "Paul has a reputation, and I'm sure your father knows about it."

"Yeah, but he doesn't know we're . . . together or whatever." I glanced at Paul, too. As soon as my eyes turned to him he tilted his head back and toward me a little, even though he was looking in the opposite direction.

"If you get pregnant, there could be consequences for the entire pack," Sam said bluntly. "Your father already doesn't like us because of what happened between Jacob and you."

"Oh. _Oh."_ I stared at him. "I _am_ on birth control, Sam. There aren't going to be any consequences."

"Okay." He winced. "Sorry."

"It's fine," I replied, shrugging. He knew everything else via telepathy anyway, why not that? "Okay, I'll go to the house tomorrow."

The notion made me feel faint and nauseous, but I wasn't going to protect myself when there was the chance that I could help protect Paul, Jacob, and the others. We walked back to the bonfire together. I sat next to Jacob, and he slung an arm around me. Grateful for the warmth, I leaned into him; as long as Paul saw what we were doing and didn't look like he had any objection, I felt okay with Jacob's embrace.

After a few minutes, I realized that my body had pivoted under Jacob's touch towards Paul, although I still had my face turned to look at Billy. Paul had done the same thing toward me. I didn't think either of us had intended the reorientation.

That night, I prepared for bed as quickly as I could, and then rushed to open my window. Within sixty seconds, I felt Paul's approach. I knelt in bed and waited; he leaped through the window and stood there for a second, watching me.

I broke the silence. "I'm glad you're here." I held out one hand.

Paul walked to take it in a hot grasp. "Are you going to be okay tomorrow?" He sat down, eyes boring into mine. I could tell he wasn't overly fond of the plan.

I shrugged. "Hope so. I guess I won't know till we get there."

"I was there, when Sam found you," he reminded me, edging closer. "When you got lost in the woods."

I scooted over and sat on his lap. "I know. I remember. Sam, Jared, and you." I rested my head on his chest, sighing with relief at the contact.

He wrapped his arms around me and rocked me back and forth. "I'll never forget the way you looked."

I wished I could forget the way I _felt_ then. "I'm a little better than that, now." I stretched to kiss his collarbone. "I'll have you. I'll be okay."

He didn't seem at all convinced. "You'd better be, or else I'm kicking Embry's ass for coming up with the idea in the first place, and then I'll rip Sam's heart out for agreeing to it." His voice was grim; I was pretty sure he meant every word literally. "I couldn't even see your face, that night; you were curled up so tight. If I hadn't heard your heart beating, I would have thought you were dead."

Strange. I had been so sure I had no heart left to beat. The memory made all the blood drain from my head. "I can't . . . I can't . . ." I tried to breathe, and couldn't. "I can't talk about it," I managed to gasp out. "Hurts."

"See, this is what I damn well meant," he said, low-voiced and furious. I looked up to see his face gone hard with rage. His arms clamped in a vise grip, binding me against him. "You can't even think about the night that son of a bitch left you alone in the goddamn woods without getting fucked up. This is so fucking stupid. What are you going to do tomorrow when—"

He stopped because I was pulling my shirt over my head. Only one thing had made me completely happy since Edward had left, and he was the only one who could give it to me. "I don't want to think about it," I told him. "I don't want to think . . ." I lifted myself to straddle him and kissed his neck, sucking on it hard enough to leave a bruise—it healed almost instantly. I pulled back to finish, ". . . about anything right now, okay?"

Paul looked at me for a moment, expression unreadable, and finally nodded. "Okay." He lifted us both enough so that he could push his shorts down, and then he pulled my underwear to the side, sliding inside me with his fingers. "Jesus. You're so wet already."

I looped my arms behind his neck, dropped my forehead to his shoulder and moaned, "Because of . . . you . . . oh God," while moving up and down on his hand. He made a low noise in his throat and turned his head to lick my jaw. "I missed you so much last night. I don't want— _oh_ —to sleep away from you ever, ever again."

Hearing the words coming out of my mouth sent a thrill of fear through me—I was exposing my feelings far too much—but he replied, "Me _neither,_ " with just as much fervor, and I relaxed again. He eased his hand out; I pouted for a moment until he snapped the seams of my underwear to remove it, and then lifted me up and onto his erection, pushing until I couldn't fit any more of him inside me.

One arm went around me again, hand cradling the back of my head; I sighed and leaned back, angling for him to go deeper. Everything about him fit everything about me so well. He put his other hand, the one that had been inside me, to my lips. It took me a second to figure out what he wanted, but then I sucked on his fingers, one by one, while he thrust into me and watched, heavy-lidded and panting. I kissed each fingertip when I was done and whispered, "You feel really good. Don't stop, okay?"

He bent to kiss my temple, then moved down to my ear. "Isabella."

I shivered at the way he said my name; it sounded like every declaration of devotion a girl could dream about, concentrated into four syllables. " _My_ Paul," I whimpered, and wondered what that sounded like to him.

He kept his touches gentle, sliding and caressing across every inch of my skin he could reach without really concentrating on any one place. He didn't seem to be in any particular hurry; I kept waiting for him to touch my clit and finish it, but he never did. He thrust in and out of me in a slow, steady rhythm, kissing every bit of my front he could reach. Every spot he kissed me felt like it started a fire—little sparks that grew and combined until I was glowing again as he moved his lips across my neck, chest, breasts, shoulders. At last my orgasm shimmered through me, making me sigh and melt into him. He clutched me to his chest and came right after me; I listened to the frenzied pounding of his heart against my ear and smiled with contentment. No matter how blank he kept his face, he could never keep his body from giving away how much he needed me.

After we cleaned up and got dressed again, we tumbled into bed and stayed where we landed. Paul seemed to like having his face covered with my arm while he lay spread-eagled on his stomach, even though it looked suffocating to me, and I liked having at least part of him pinned under my leg. I imagined it looked a lot like a couple of dogs—wolves?—asleep in a pile together, but it was so comfortable I didn't care. I twisted to touch as much of him as possible—he smiled with his eyes closed, already asleep—and then I drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: "Little Bit" by Lykke Li.


	10. In Which Paul Proves Multilingual

I ran, even though I couldn't see in the night. I stumbled through the forest and I couldn't see Edward anymore. He'd left me behind, but I didn't know how to live without him, so I just kept on going, hoping I'd either find him or die trying.

"Please no please no please no please no," I begged as I ran, knowing he could hear me, knowing he wouldn't care.

A dark silver wolf bounded out of the darkness and stood before me. I skidded to a halt, rocking back on my heels. The wolf growled and butted me with its head, knocking me back a few steps.

"I have to find him," I tried to explain, but the wolf snarled and butted me again. "Stop! I have to find him, Paul!"

I tried to run around the wolf, but he blocked my path so quickly I didn't see him move. Whimpering, I spun and tried to go the other direction, but he blocked me again, and again, and again—every time I tried to go to Edward, the wolf was there before I could blink, snarling and refusing to let me pass.

I knew the words I had to say, knew the idea I had to convey, but for some reason my lips wouldn't shape the sentence. _I need to find him, Paul._ I couldn't say it. I tried, but I couldn't.

At least, not in my dream. When I woke up, already in Paul's arms, tears on my cheeks and blood on my lip where I'd bitten it, I was moaning, "I need to find him, Paul, need to find him, help me don't make me leave him I need—" At last I heard myself and closed my mouth. I couldn't stop crying, though. Shivers wracked my body. I was so cold.

"It's okay," Paul whispered, kissing the tears off of my face. "It's okay. I won't make you leave him, okay? Just let me stay with you. That's all I want."

The words eased the coiled tension in my chest so that I could breathe again. After a second, I managed to gulp back the last of the sobs and hug him too. He kept on kissing my face until I started kissing him back; when I did, he lifted his head to look at me. I couldn't see him in the dark, just a shadow where I knew his face was, but I knew he could see me as clearly as if it were noon.

I finally was able to say, "Sorry." _I'm sorry I still dream about him, sorry I hurt you, sorry I'm so stupid, sorry I won't let you tell anyone you comfort me in the night, sorry I couldn't catch him, sorry I need you to keep me from running after what's left, sorry I can't leave him yet, sorry I probably just got my snot all over your face, sorry sorry sorry . . ._

"Didn't you hear me?" he asked. I nodded slowly. "I know what it's like, okay? I don't give a fuck that he's still in your head, as long as I'm there too."

He knew what it was like? Had someone—oh. His parents. He knew what it was like to love someone who hurt you, who left you behind and wouldn't let you follow.

"You're in there too," I told him. "And you're here." I grasped his hand and moved it to rest on the heart he'd restored to my chest.

Paul kissed my neck and then pushed my thighs apart a little more. "Don't forget I'm _here_ , too." He slid down my body and licked between my legs. I gasped, threading my fingers through his hair and shuddering as the heat of his mouth woke me fully. He pulled away to say, "This is one place he'll never be." As he spoke, he slipped his fingers inside me. "Isabella."

"Yes." I clung to his head as his lips, tongue and hand worked their magic, and let him remind me who I was now.

  


( * * * )

  


When I woke up in the morning, Paul was still there, which was a nice change from the norm. We had rearranged ourselves through the course of the night; he was on his side in the center of the bed, and I had draped myself over him at the waist with my face down in the mattress and my feet hanging off the edge. Good thing I had a full-size mattress or one of us might have thudded onto the floor. As it was, Paul's knees still had to be pulled up practically to his chest to keep his feet from hitting the footboard.

I lifted my head when he moved his hand from under my stomach to rest on my butt instead. "Hey. I've gotta go soon," he said, soft-voiced.

I crawled backwards and collapsed on the bed behind him; he turned and gathered me into his arms. "So you're going to meet me after school?" I asked, leaning my head against his shoulder.

"I'll be there, and I'm bringing my homework too. We've got to study more or we're both going to have our grades go downhill fast, especially with me missing all that school the past few weeks."

"I saw your books when I was in your room," I remembered. "Do you do online stuff?"

"Yeah, and I go to the tribal school too. They put me on part-time home study when I got into too many fights last year—before I phased—but it worked out okay because now I'm not bored all the time anymore." One big hand stroked my hair; he kissed the top of my head almost absentmindedly. "My Latin class is a bitch, though. I've got ten pages of verb and noun declensions plus nursery song translations due next week."

A wave of sadness swamped me as he spoke. "But . . . you can't go to college, right? I mean . . . there's the rez to protect."

He snorted. "Bullshit. The rez was fine for decades before the tick coven came back to town. Now that they're gone again, things'll go back to normal eventually. The only way I'm staying on the rez is if I _choose_ to come back after I get my degree. For fuck's sake, it's all paid for anyway. I'm not gonna live there for the rest of my life just because I didn't give myself any other options. Sam'll realize that someday. And I don't graduate from high school for another year."

I pulled away to look in his eyes. "You're serious," I said after a moment.

He gave me a half-confused look. "Yeah. It's fine for the other guys to stay forever on the rez if that's what they want, but I'd rather bring some sort of education back with me if I do."

"That's so cool," I said, feeling a smile dawn on my face. "We can go—" I snapped my mouth shut.

"Together," he finished, still looking confused. "Right? We'll go together. To U-Dub or whatever."

My smile turned into an incredulous laugh. "You mean it?"

He nodded slowly, eyes searching my face. "Well . . . yeah. We can't even take two weeks without each other; how else would it work? And you should go to college too. You're really smart. I could tell when I would see you doing your homework . . . in Jacob's head, you know?"

I sat up, mulling it over. That meant I wouldn't have to go to college by myself. I could just take online courses for the next couple of terms, or tell Charlie that I wanted to work and save up money before I took off for Seattle. I wouldn't be alone or have to make new friends unless I felt like it. I'd always have someone to go with me places and hang out with at night and help out with supper . . . I was never going to be all by myself again.

This was so _awesome_.

"You look happy," Paul said, tucking one strand of hair behind my ear.

I leaned to kiss him. I'd meant to do it as a quick gesture—after all, we'd already done it twice in one night—but the instant our lips touched I went up in flames, falling into his embrace and grinding myself against him. He made a startled noise, but he grabbed me and opened his mouth under mine, shoving my underwear off and making quick work of his own shorts. Before he could do anything else, I grasped his erection and slid myself down and around him in one fast move. His eyes widened.

"I _am_ happy," I gasped, equal parts surprised by the fact and aroused by him.

He palmed my breasts with both hands and moved inside me. My head went too heavy to hold upright. I squeezed my eyes shut and grabbed his wrists, using them to lift myself and slide back down.

"Too slow, Isabella," Paul warned, but I could hear a smile in his voice, too. "We've both got to go in—shit," as I rotated my hips, "a minute or two . . ." He inhaled sharply as I sank down again. " _Fuck_ that feels so good, but we've gotta speed it up, here—" and he moved his hands to my hips and started helping me set a faster pace. I braced myself against his chest, biting my lip and trying not to make any noise that would make my dad want to investigate.

After a few seconds, though, he stopped moving. I opened my eyes to see his eyes gleaming wickedly. "Your dad's awake."

"Crap!" I yelped in an undertone and tried to move off him. His hands clamped on my waist and wouldn't allow me to move. I glared. "What? You don't think I'll—"

"Oh yeah, I do." I tried again to slide away; again his grip prevented it. "You started this," he said softly, moving inside me again now, although he went more slowly, to keep the bed from giving us away. "But I'll finish it."

"I can't—" He pulled me down against his chest. I flashed back to the first time he'd done this, on the edge of that cliff, and pressed my face to his skin to muffle my moan as I mumbled, "I can't do this. He's going to hear me—"

"Not if you shut up already," he remonstrated, a thread of laughter in the words.

"Bells? You up?" Charlie called from down the hall.

" _I'm_ up," Paul whispered. "Want to tell him?" He flattened his hand against my tailbone; the pressure and our bodies' motion against each other made me vibrate with pleasure from head to toe.

"Yeah, Dad!" I shouted, then mouthed to Paul, "I hate you so much right now." He cocked an eyebrow at me. I kissed his chest to show I didn't really mean that, and then, just because it was there, sucked on his nipple. He flinched. His fingers dug into my skin.

"I've got a double shift today," Charlie told me, voice approaching the bedroom door. "I won't be back till late."

"Okay. I'll keep dinner—ummm—" Paul covered the nape of my neck with the hand not on my rear. " _Warm._ "

"That's nice of you. See you tonight."

"Have a good day," I said, my voice coming out practically strangled. Paul chuckled soundlessly and slid his lower hand across my butt and farther, down to where we were joined, spreading his fingers on either side of where he entered me and pushing them against me with every stroke. The pressure of his fingers focused my attention between my legs, banishing distractions instantly. Within seconds, I came undone. I sank my teeth into his skin to keep from crying out as Paul lost his rhythm, slamming into me raggedly and breathing my name until he exploded.

He rolled with me and slid down to kiss me, closed-mouth and sweet, over and over again. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back until I was dizzy, distantly registering the sound of my dad's cruiser pulling out of the driveway. School seemed completely beside the point. I never wanted to leave my bed again, as long as Paul was here in it with me.

Finally, though, he pulled away to nuzzle my shoulder and neck, saying, "I've got to go; we're both late now. I'll be here after school though."

I sighed. "Okay. But it sucks that you have to leave."

"Yeah." He lifted his head and looked down at me, smoothing my hair back. "Try not to worry about this afternoon, buddy."

I mustered up a half a smile. "If you don't, I won't."

Paul snorted. "Yeah, I've got a feeling I'm going to be worrying about you for the rest of my life."

 _That_ gave me a full-on smile. He smiled too, seeing it, and kissed me one last time before saying, "See ya." A second later, I heard the back door slam—he'd moved too fast for me to see him leave. __

I looked out the window and was pleasantly shocked by the sunshine I saw. I could actually wear short sleeves for once. As I got ready, I remembered I hadn't fed Paul. Crap. We were both going to be starving for the rest of the day.

Sure enough, I could barely pay attention for hunger in my morning classes, and at lunch I ate everything on my tray and then went back for a second tray afterward. Nobody but Lauren seemed to notice; she noted slyly that it was _almost_ like I was eating for two since I'd gotten really _close_ to those La Push kids. Before spring break, I would have cringed back and pretended I hadn't heard. Now, I grappled with the imprint-induced surge of fury, whipping my head up and giving her a narrow-eyed stare, but Angela spoke up before I could, bringing the attention her way.

"Bella's been eating barely enough for a mouse for months, since her stomach was hurting all the time," she observed, directing her gaze at the book that lay open before her on the table. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Thanks," I answered, shooting a smile in her direction while I ate as rapidly as I could, trying to beat the bell.

After my stomach was halfway full, I started having sex flashbacks, which was almost as disconcerting. For the rest of the day, every time I blinked, I saw Paul's face . . . or other body parts . . . and when Mike asked me if I'd be willing to volunteer to hand out graduation ceremony programs at the door I answered, "Paul . . ." before I heard myself and blushed. Mike looked majorly confused. The worst part was, I couldn't be sure if it was real-me or other-me who had said it.

When the last bell rang, I made it out to the parking lot with uncharacteristic speed to find Paul leaning against my truck. He had decided to come fully dressed, which was nice of him, but he still stood out, a man among all the boys emptying out of the school doors.

I walked up to him with a shy wave, hugging myself with my other arm, not because my chest hurt—for once—but because I felt self-conscious. What was it with me hooking up with boys who were so much hotter than me? It was kind of embarrassing to always be the plainest part of the equation. "Hey."

"Hey," Paul answered, standing straight and lifting my backpack off of my shoulder. He threw it into the passenger side and then put his hands on my shoulders, looking me over from head to toe. "You okay?"

I lifted my hands to cover his own, unable to stop my smile. "Yeah, I'm good. How was your day?"

"Busy." He looked at me a moment longer and then reached to brush my hair back from my face. "You're really pretty, you know? I'm lucky."

I could feel my face turn crimson with mingled embarrassment and delight. "Shut up. No I'm not. You are. Well, not pretty, but gorgeous anyway."

He grinned at me, all confident swagger. "Yeah, no shit, but you're fucking beautiful, okay? Let me be the one to judge."

I gaped at him. _Fucking beautiful?_ Really? But I would know if he lied to me. In fact, if the imprint worked with him the way it did with me, he _couldn't_ lie to me. So he meant it.

Oh my God, the imprint. He'd known—or it had told him—that I was feeling insecure. How bizarre and cool at the same time. "Oh. W-wow," I finally managed to stutter. "Um . . . thanks."

He shrugged. "It's the truth. You know, I was thinking, you should probably take a shower before you go over, since we slept together last night. You don't want to dilute your scent. I'm still not convinced this plan is smart. I think there might be too many approaches to guard every one, and I'm not sure we can make her believe he's living there again. We might need to just remove some stuff and use it to lead her where we want her to go . . . " He stiffened and glared over my shoulder, then moved to put me between the truck and him.

I turned and peered past his elbow. Lauren and Jessica stood on the other side of the lot, looking at us and whispering behind their hands. Jessica just looked curious, but Lauren had her usual smugly superior smirk in place. She leaned to say something else to Jessica, her waterfall of pretty blond hair—grown out from its unfortunate cut—spilling over her cheek.

The other-me snarled wordlessly in my head. She didn't like the speculation in Lauren's eyes as she studied Paul. I sighed. "Oh. Yeah. That's Lauren."

Paul growled a little in answer.

"Whatever she's saying . . . " Lauren laughed, flipping her hair back and directing a raised eyebrow in Paul's direction. "I don't want to know."

"Then I won't tell you," he muttered. "Do you want to drive?"

"No, you can. Keys are in my backpack." He held my hand to help me into the truck and buckled my seatbelt for me, even though I said again, "I can do that."

"I know," he replied, attention still on Lauren. He shut the door, but instead of walking around to the driver's side, he directed a fierce look across the lot and said, loudly enough for her to hear him, "Why don't you just shut the fuck up, bitch?"

Lauren's face went blank with shock. Without waiting for any other response, Paul jogged to his door and got in.

"Paul," I gasped, unable to decide if I should laugh or remonstrate. "That was—"

"Stupid—" he said a word that sounded like "hoh-quaht—" "Bitch. You said you didn't want to know what she said, but that doesn't mean I have to act like I didn't hear it." He turned the key in the ignition and pulled out.

I nodded slowly, and then decided on laughing. "She looked _really_ surprised," I giggled when he looked at me.

A slow grin spread across his face. "Yeah. I get the feeling most people don't call her on that catty shit."

"What was that word again?" I asked. "Was it Quileute?"

"Yeah." He put his arm across the back of the seat and toyed with my hair. "It just means a white person. Nothing bad."

It seemed like a dumb question, but I asked anyway. "Do you speak Quileute?"

"Nah, hardly any of the kids on the rez do," he replied. Seeing my surprise, he elaborated, "I mean, all of us in the pack know a little bit, for when we're in public and Sam doesn't want other people to understand him, but I learned it from being in his mind. Jacob and Quil speak it. Leah does. Seth's supposed to but he doesn't really. They all have tribal council elders for parents, though. The rest of us only speak English. Mostly."

"You speak Latin," I reminded him with a smile.

"Yeah, speaking a dead language'll get me really far in life," he snorted. "I just took it because it's supposed to help with the SATs. You know, the verbal portion. Before you know it, the only thing I'll remember is ' _puella est parva_.'"

"What's that mean?" I tilted my head into his touch. Oooh, yes. Every time his fingers brushed my skin, it sent waves of heat through my whole body. How had I lived without being warm for so long? How had I lived without _Paul_ for so long?

He shrugged. "It's the first sentence they had us translate. 'The girl is small.'" He grinned again and yanked my hair gently. "Maybe it should've been _'Isabella est parva.'_ "

I rolled my eyes. "Very funny. Say something else."

"' _Varium et mutabile semper femina,'"_ he said with a smirk, running his hand down my neck and shoulders to my breasts.

I shivered and leaned back to give him better access before remembering that anybody on the road could see us. With a playful scowl, I grabbed his hand and held it in both of mine. "I'm guessing whatever you just said isn't flattering."

"'Woman is always a changeable and capricious thing,'" he replied, and then laughed as my scowl lost its playfulness. "Don't get mad at me, get mad at Virgil. It's a quote from the _Aeneid._ It seemed worth memorizing, though."

"Nice." I crossed my arms, angling myself away, and tried not to pout too obviously.

He drove without saying anything for a moment, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Finally he brushed my cheek with the backs of his fingers. Speaking so quietly I could barely hear him, he recited, " _Miror quaenam sis tam bella . . . Alba velut gemma."_

Something in his voice made my insides go soft and my heart pound in my throat. I couldn't look at him, so I stared out the window when I asked, "Was that my name? What did you say?"

He didn't answer. When I dared to turn my gaze in his direction, he just shook his head at me and laughed a little, but not like he thought I was funny. It was more like he couldn't believe he'd said it. That told me what I needed to know. I lifted his hand to my mouth and kissed his knuckles, one by one. " _My_ Paul."

He drew my hand to his cheek and nuzzled it. " _All_ yours."

When we got to the house, I took a shower while he waited. I half-hoped he would join me, but he must have decided we needed to take care of going to the Cullens' first, and truthfully part of the reason I wanted him to come in was because I wanted to delay the trip.

After I was dressed, I grabbed a trash bag for _his_ clothes and we walked out to the truck. I stopped at the door. "I don't think I can do this."

Paul stopped too, hand at my elbow. "Then don't. I'll tell Sam to go fuck himself if it's going to hurt you."

I took a deep breath, rubbing my sweaty palms down my jeans. I could tell Paul was serious. He would defy the second most important person in his life if he thought I couldn't handle it.

"No, I'll be all right," the other-me assured him.

I frowned. She was really getting to be a pain in the ass.

Paul didn't look convinced. "You sure?"

"Let's go," I said, before the other-me could speak up again. I was going to hang onto my own voice as much as I could, damn it. I reached to take the keys from him and got behind the wheel.

We drove over in total silence. When we pulled up to the big house, I managed to turn off the engine before I bent over at the waist, leaning my head on the seat between us, and closed my eyes, trying hard to suck air into my lungs—they were still there but they _hurt_.

Paul put his hand on my back, rubbing to comfort even as he said bitterly, "Goddammit, Isabella, this is such fucking bullshit; you _can't_ do this so let's just get the fuck out of here before I lose my goddamn mind and start tearing shit up."

"I'm okay," I wheezed out. "I'm okay. Don't touch me." He snatched back his hand as if I'd burned him. Too late, I heard what I had said. Worry made my eyes able to open again. I lifted my head to look at him. He was staring out the windshield, expressionless, but I could feel the unintentional pain my thoughtless words had caused. "Hey. Paul." I forced myself to sit up. "Paul."

He tried to say something, cleared his throat, and finally got out, "Yeah."

"I just meant because of the smell. I don't know what you guys smell like to vampires and I thought we wanted me to go in smelling as much like _me_ as possible. Right? That's all." I put my hand on the seat between us, just barely brushing the edge of his shorts with my fingertips. "I'm glad you're here. I, um. I couldn't do this without you."

He nodded; the hurt receded from my awareness. "Okay. Then let's get it over with."

We opened the doors and got out, staring at the three-story house. Paul said, "That thing is fucking huge."

 _That's what she said_ floated hysterically through my brain. I had really been hanging out with the pack way too much. "Yeah, well . . . there are seven of them, and six of them are married, so they needed their space," I replied. __

He walked to stand by my shoulder. "Go on, buddy. I'm right behind you."

I nodded, swallowing the bile that kept churning up from my stomach. "Right. Right behind me. Okay." I focused on my feet. One step. Two. Three. I kept going until I got to the porch steps. One step. Two. Three. We were at the door. I indicated it with a wave of my hand. "Can you break in?"

"If I need to, but—" He reached out and tried the doorknob. It opened easily. "That's what I thought. Okay, from now on you're the only one who touches anything, especially what we take with us. I'm going to have to stand here at the door."

"If there's anything to take," I said wryly, and pushed the door open.

Oh, there was a lot to take. There was . . . everything. They had just thrown white covers over the white furniture to match the white walls and the white carpeting. I didn't want to look, but it was like I had to: my head turned of its own accord to the left, and there it was. The piano, resting upon its platform, with the bench neatly in the center. Just as if he'd never left, as if he was going to reappear at the keys at any moment.

I heard the low-pitched moaning before I realized that it was coming from me. The real me. The non-imprinted part of me who couldn't forget, even when she didn't want to remember. My heart and lungs remained in my chest, but the hurt was so bad I wanted to die. I crossed my arms, hard, over the agony and pressed my lips together, afraid of what the sound of my pain would do to Paul. I couldn't look at him. Moving mechanically, I walked to the covers and started removing them, one by one, draping them over my arms. I dragged my palms across each piece of furniture after I took off its cover. Dust flew, sparkling in the sunlight, as I moved around the room. My path led me back toward the door, and right next to the piano. Hesitantly, I reached out; I managed to just barely skim the surface before I had to yank my hand back as if it had been burned. Slowly, hunched over like an old woman, I climbed onto the platform and sat on the bench for a mere instant before getting off again and making my way to the steps. I shoved the furniture covers into the bathroom and then turned my attention to the staircase next to its door.

"If we take it, you'll have to carry it," Paul said from the front door, and I shot my gaze to his face at the distress in his voice. He didn't sound angry, which worried me, and his face had gone blank again. If he was that upset then I must really look bad. His hands were fisted in the pockets of his cutoffs and he looked as if he was using that to keep himself from grabbing me.

"I can do it," I said through teeth gritted with resolve, and looked at my feet again. _Come on, Bella. Grow up._ One step. Two steps. Three. I made it to the giant curving staircase and put one hand down on the handrail, careful to touch as much as I could. Looking at my hand sliding across the still-gleaming surface of the wood got me to the third story. Thinking about the paneling on the wall as I leaned on it got me to the end of the hallway.

I ran out of distractions for myself when I got to his door.

Fortunately, it wasn't latched; I only had to tap it with my fingertips for it to swing open wide. I stared past the furnishings out the wall of windows at the Sol Duc river, winding its way through the forest. _Look at the river, Bella. Look at the trees. Look at the mountains. You're not here._

Nothing was covered in here; it all looked exactly the same except for a very thin layer of dust. I walked across the room, deliberately rubbing my leg against the black couch as I went, to the wall farthest from the door. His bathroom and closet doors stood ajar.

When I stepped into the closet, I inhaled, and then I went down on my hands and knees. Even my dull human senses could pick up the traces that were left, all these months later, of the intoxicating scent he carried away with him.

I wanted to curl up and stay here forever, until my pointless life left me the way I'd hoped it would for so long. My final resting place would be as close to him as he would allow.

Except, I couldn't. I couldn't do that. I had to get up and move because the boys' lives depended on it. I could do this because I had been able to get up and move when Paul had left. Maybe I'd been wrong before, when I'd called that portion of myself that still belonged to Edward non-imprinted. Maybe I _had_ imprinted on him, in some strange fashion; after all, people broke up all the time with their boyfriends and didn't end up near-comatose for months on end. If I could shut the wolf-imprint up and drive over here, I could force the vampire-imprint down and regain my feet. Probably.

Oh God. It hurt so bad.

I sat back on my knees and wrapped my arms around my chest again, trying to hold myself together, trying to remember what I needed to do, and who I needed to be today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: "This Place Is a Prison" by The Postal Service.


	11. In Which Paul Discovers Hidden Things

"Isabella."

I started and almost screamed; I had totally forgotten that Paul was with me. He must have practically flown up the stairs.

He crouched down, dark eyes narrowed with anxiety. That muscle next to his jaw was jumping again. After a moment, he said, "Grab something— _any_ fucking thing—and let's get the hell out of here."

I rocked back and forth, clutching at my chest. I heard his words but I couldn't quite act.

"Isabella, if you don't get up this goddamn instant and fucking move your ass, I'll carry you out and this'll all be wasted effort."

The bleak threat got me on my feet. I grabbed clothing, randomly at first, then not-so-randomly, looking for the most familiar shirts, which meant I had to remember more, which meant I hurt more. I ended up with about ten things, and shoved them into the trash bag.

"Good," Paul said with a nod. "Now let's get out. I shouldn't be in here anyway." He gave me a tiny prod to the small of my back to get me going in the right direction. I stumbled down the hallway and lurched slowly down the stairs. He stood next to me every time I stopped, still not touching me, although he was close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body. When we finally walked out the front door, I conscientiously closed it behind us and made my way to the truck. The near-permanent puddles in the bed had dried in the sunshine, so I put the clothes in the bed, and then my knees gave way again. Paul caught me this time. I almost passed out but the jolt of warmth and scent from his body gave me what I needed to stay conscious. Muttering, "Fuck that lily-white glitterdick straight in the ass," which might have made me laugh under other circumstances, he carried me to the passenger side of the truck, carefully put me inside, and buckled me in.

About a mile away from the house, I found my voice. "I'm so sorry."

"Fuck that shit." He reached for my hand and grabbed it so tightly my bones ground together. I didn't complain. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Don't leave me." For once, the other-me and I were in total agreement.

"Not a chance in hell."

When we got home, Paul took me to the back of the house and opened the door before turning to me. "Take your clothes off."

"Shouldn't I wait till I'm inside before we do that?" I asked, feebly trying for a joke.

Paul wasn't laughing. "Fuck, no. You reek like that cocksucker and it's making me want to fucking kill someone. Not you. But I'm not having his stench in your house. It's too much for you and it's definitely too much for me."

When I didn't move, he started unbuttoning my shirt. I stood there and let him, even though we were on the grass, next to the three steps that led up to the door, and probably anyone could see. I didn't want the olfactory reminders either. He unbuttoned my jeans, and finally I could move. I pushed his hands away and yanked my pants off, kicking off my shoes as I went, then peeled off my socks and stood there in my bra and panties. Paul pulled his clothes off while I did that, and picked me up, running into the house and slamming the door behind him. He went straight to the bathroom upstairs and turned on the shower, shoving me into the water with my underwear still on my body. He tore off my bra and panties, scrubbed me in a fashion our chemistry teachers would have approved for an emergency spill clean-up, and did the same to himself. He would have gotten us both out then, but again I pushed his hands away and directed my face into the spray. He kissed the back of my neck, my shoulders, and the top of my head, wrapping his arms around my chest and holding me while I swayed on my feet.

 _Mine-with-me,_ the other-me sighed happily. She liked everything that had to do with Paul staying and didn't really care about much else. At least one of us wasn't totally freaked out. And oh my _God_ did I sound mentally ill, even to myself. __

"Do you hear a voice in your head, sometimes?" I blurted.

The words were a little garbled by the water, but he understood them. "Yeah. I fucking hear seven of them."

"No. I mean—" I turned within his embrace to wrap my arms around his waist and look up. "Since the imprint? I hear this voice in my head. Like, it sounds like my thoughts, but it's things I _wouldn't_ have thought before that day. Mostly, it's just about you—she feels like she owns you. She says 'mine' a lot. A _lot_ , a lot."

"Oh. Yeah." His hands moved up and down my back under the water, tracing my shoulder blades, my ribs, my spine. "I hear that all the time. I mean, it sounds like me. But he pretty much says the same stuff, only about you instead."

"It's so freaky." I shivered a little, even with his heat blazing into my front and the water boiling my back.

Paul shrugged. "Guess I'm used to it. It just sounds like the wolf to me, and that thing never shuts up. Maybe it _is_ the wolf. I'm not all the way human, though, so maybe it's easier for me. But humans have instincts too—hell, women are supposed to have better ones. I don't know if that's a load of bullshit or not, but it makes sense that if you're tied to a werewolf that you'd get more instinctive as part of the deal."

I thought about it, leaning against him and taking deep breaths, enjoying the renewed ability to inhale without pain. "Yeah, I guess that does make sense. I kind of hate it, though. She's always there, trying to make me do stuff I don't even expect or understand."

He chuckled and kissed the top of my head. "She's still you, buddy. You don't have to fight her unless you're looking to go ten rounds with yourself."

"She doesn't feel like me," I grumbled.

"That's because you're used to fighting yourself about everything you want." He shrugged.

I kissed his chest. "And how do you know that?"

He grasped my hair and gently tilted my head back, then kissed my nose. "I know _you."_

I grabbed his hair, too, and held him in place so I could kiss his mouth. When I let him go, he was the one who was breathless. "Yeah, you do."

He lifted me up to his level and started kissing me so hard I wondered if he wanted to take things farther, but then the water turned cold, and I started shivering. He said, "C'mon, let's get out before you freeze."

We dried off and headed to my bedroom. I collapsed on the bed, throwing my arm over my eyes. Paul sat on the edge of mattress, too keyed up to join me.

"Why does it still smell like him in here?" he demanded. "I thought it was you—that you kind of smelled a little bit like a leech still, sometimes—but now I recognize it and it's _him_. Why the hell is that?"

I just shrugged. I didn't smell anything but my own soap. It smelled weird on Paul, because it was honeysuckle-scented, but it was still better than remembering that closet.

I heard the sound of the floor being ripped up and twisted to see Paul standing in the middle of the room with a floorboard in his hand. "What the fuck is this shit?"

Slowly, I rose from the bed and padded, sheet wrapped around me, to peer into the exposed space. The shock knocked the breath out of me all over again. "Oh my God," I gasped, falling to my knees and lifting out the contents of the hole. "This . . . this is the stuff he took. I thought he destroyed it, but it's been here this whole time?" I lifted out the CD, the pictures, the airline tickets . .  It was all there. I gaped, completely dumbfounded. "What does this mean? I don't even . . . I don't get it!"

"It means the motherfucker didn't want to pull his hooks out of you, even when he left you wandering alone in the woods. It means he wanted to have a hold on you even after he almost let you die of exposure," Paul said flatly. I tore my eyes from the items in my hands to look at him. His face was distorted by fury, practically unrecognizable with it. His hands shook convulsively. "I know that's your stuff, but if you don't take it and hide it really, really, well, I'm going to rip it into tiny pieces."

I stared at the CD again. It couldn't mean what Paul said; I knew _him_ better than that and he would never do that . . . except what other reason could there be? He hadn't wanted me anymore; he'd said so. He was bored with me. So why leave behind the things he'd led me to believe were gone forever?

"I don't understand him at all," I whispered finally.

"You _shouldn't_ be able to understand him. He's not human. And speaking of 'not human,' I swear to God I'll phase right here if you don't get rid of his shit."

He meant it; he shook from head to toe, shoulders hunched. "I need you to calm down or you're going to hurt me," I said, looking him in the eye and focusing on staying as calm as I could for his sake. The effort helped me think better. He stilled instantly, but his expression didn't change a whit. I looked back at the things from under the floor and shook my head. "I'm keeping the airline tickets. I might want to see my mom. But the rest of this stuff?" That same rage that had overwhelmed me the night after Paul had imprinted on me burgeoned up in my chest, chasing out the depression and withdrawal. "You can do whatever the hell you want with it. Screw it. I am so done with trying to get this."

Paul grabbed everything but the tickets from my hands and disappeared too quickly for me to watch. When he came back, he had tiny cuts still healing on his palms. I took his hands in mine and turned them to inspect them.

"Those jewel cases cut like a bitch when they shatter," he explained. "I went ahead and stuck our clothes in the washing machine while I was down there."

I raised his palms to my lips and kissed the center of each one, the way he always did for me when I hurt myself. "Thank you, Paul." I clutched his hands to my breasts, along with the sheet, and looked up at him. "How could you stand to do that?"

"It was easy. I wish I could do it to him."

"No, I mean . . . Go to the house? See me like that? I know it must have hurt you." I lifted my hand to caress his face.

He shook his head at me. "I keep on telling you." He enfolded me in an embrace. I rested my cheek against his chest and felt my body relax, starting at each point where we touched and spreading through all my muscles. "Whatever you need me to be, I'll be; I'm all yours."

I nodded, and let him hold me. It was so nice not to be cold anymore. I didn't think I'd ever stop appreciating it. "I was thinking . . ."

"Yeah?" Paul prompted when I didn't finish.

I tilted my head back to look him in the eye. "When I was there, it felt like . . . I felt the same way I would have felt if you'd been able to stay away, and I'd gone to your bedroom later. Like, the tie between him and me was sort of . . . I don't know, supernatural or something."

"Please for fuck's sake tell me you don't think you're _still_ bonded to him," he said flatly, every muscle gone stiff under my touch.

I shook my head, caressing his back reassuringly. "No, don't worry, that's not what I mean. What we have, you and me, is way stronger." Paul hadn't been able to keep away, after all. He relaxed a little and nodded in understanding. "I think, though, that he had some sort of hold on me, and me on him. His family said he'd never acted the way he did with me with anyone else, and he was almost a hundred years older than me. And then the way I acted, when he left? That wasn't like me at _all_. I used to run my _mother's_ life, let alone my own, you know? I never would have let someone's leaving do that to me before."

Paul furrowed his eyebrows. "So it was kind of like breaking an imprint, when he left. Shit. I wonder if he's gonna come back then."

Just the thought made me want to pass out, or vomit. "If he does, I don't want to know. I can't handle . . . it must have only gone one way, because he was so bored with me by the time he left. Like, he'd gotten tired of playing with his toy, and he wanted a new one."

"His fucking loss." Paul was silent for a moment, then asked, "You were talking to him, weren't you?"

I craned my head back to give him a puzzled look. I didn't remember saying anything to Edward today. We hadn't spoken since I had ranted at him in the shower all those weeks ago.

Paul's mouth was a somber, straight line. He stroked my hair away from my face and looked at me solemnly. His eyes were too grown-up, I realized. Too grown-up for a seventeen-year-old boy, which was why they didn't look out of place in his twenty-five-year-old face. He had seen too much; Jacob and I always joked about what made one of us older than the other, but I had a feeling that Paul surpassed us both.

"On the cliff," he clarified finally, when I didn't reply. "That day . . . when I imprinted, you said you weren't talking to him, but you were, weren't you? You were imagining his voice."

"How did you . . ." I stepped away, wrapping the sheet more securely around me, and sat down on the edge of the mattress, not bothering to complete the question. He'd told me how he knew. He knew _me_.

There was something wrong with my heart. It lurched around in my chest like it forgot where it belonged. My barely-recovered emotional equilibrium wavered back and forth.

Paul knelt in front of me. He wasn't as tall as Jacob, but he was tall enough to almost look me in the eye even when he was on the floor and I was on the bed. He rested his hands on my knees, still too serious. "I know . . . Isabella, I know what it's like. To feel like—you _keep_ someone . . . " He glanced down at the floor, then back up at me. The words were having trouble coming out; neither of us shared emotions very easily. "You wanted to die, didn't you? And if you got close enough, you could hear him."

His insight struck me like a blow, but my mouth opened to give the easy, practiced denial that I'd fed myself. "No, I didn't want to _die,_ I only wanted danger . . . adrenaline . . . " My voice faded under his scrutiny. There was a lump in my throat. It started out tiny, but it grew and grew until it seemed as if my neck would stretch with it. Paul just kept looking at me, and his eyes were so sad, like he could feel everything I was incapable of sharing out loud, like he didn't need words from me at all. I dropped the sheet—with or without it, I was naked before him—and put my hands over his. Tears started dripping down my cheeks as I nodded jerkily once, twice.

Paul pressed his hand to my heart, as if his touch was a magnet that could somehow attract all the broken pieces back to where they belonged under the skin. He sighed, "Oh, buddy. I'm sorry."

For the first time, I realized why he called me buddy. He was telling me that I was more than a fuck, more than an imprint, even—I was his friend, and he was mine. The quiet sympathy, the unspoken offer of support, sent the lump in my throat unraveling, stringing itself into words that spun around and out of my mouth in a broken, sobbing rush: "I wanted to die, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to but I guess I did, it was so awful, I was so alone, I don't know who I am without him, I forgot who I used to be, and he _changed_ who I am now. And Charlie can't talk to me, and Jacob doesn't understand even though he loves me. I just wanted to hear his voice, at first, but then it would always fade away and I was alone again, I'm always alone, he left me to _take care of myself_ and I didn't ever want to have to do that _again_. Somebody should take care of _me_ for once. I thought I'd found him, but I was wrong, and I _can't be wrong_ because that's _dangerous_ if I have to take care of myself, so where did that leave me? Wrong and stupid and alone and nobody and nothing—if you hadn't stopped me, I would be dead, either the water or Victoria would've gotten me—"

"Okay, okay," Paul soothed, climbing in bed beside me and pulling me into his arms. He was completely steady, unruffled in the face of all this nonsensical avalanche of confession. "Okay. It's all right. I've got you. You're gonna be okay. I'll take care of you; you don't have to do it anymore."

I curled up on his lap and sobbed. I couldn't talk for a few minutes. When I could, I choked out, "I couldn't feel all the way happy until you imprinted on me. I couldn't—I tried sometimes and Jacob helped so much, but the only thing that made me happy in the end was you, when you . . . that day . . ."

He chuckled mirthlessly. "Jesus. Well, that's a surprise. Here I thought I was the one who got all the benefits and you got fucked over. Literally."

I sniffled, grabbing the corner of the sheet and wiping my face with it. "How does you getting tied for life to a psycho suicidal loser count as a benefit?"

Paul twisted, laying me down on the bed and stretching out next to me. "It's a benefit because it's _you_ , Isabella. I don't give a shit about all that other stuff if I get you." He kissed my mouth, and I went limp with relief at the contact. I didn't even care what was the imprint and what was me anymore; I just knew that when he touched me, things were the way they were supposed to be. "So. When we did it that day, it made you happy?"

I nodded, feeling my face turn red at the admission.

"Me too." He smiled a little and kissed my nose. "If that's what it takes to make you feel that way, I'll fuck you till you can't see straight, every day for forever, okay? But right now, I think you need to sleep. And then we _have_ to study, already. Got it?"

I nodded again, and reached for my phone, which I had left on the nightstand before we went over to the house. "I'll set the alarm. I sleep way too solidly when you're around."

"That's a good thing," he said. "You're still catching up." When I put the phone back down, he kissed me one last time. "Okay. Sleep."

I frowned. We weren't touching enough. "Roll over on your stomach?" He obeyed, going diagonal so his feet could hang off the edge. I put my arm and leg over him, but that wasn't enough, so I scooted until I was face-down, resting my upper body on his back. When I snuggled down, he sighed. I lifted my head one last time to see him smiling as he folded his arms beneath his head. "This _should_ be uncomfortable," I pointed out, lying down again.

"Don't care," he mumbled, already mostly asleep. "Feels right."

Our words resonated in my mind, and I would have thought through the implications, but I was already mostly asleep, too.

  


( * * * )

  


When the alarm went off, we had moved again: he was on his side and I was sprawled on my back with my head pressed to his stomach. The phone showed four missed calls from Jacob. I sighed when I saw it. Paul looked at the screen over my shoulder but didn't say anything. After all, I already knew how he felt.

We spent the rest of the evening working on schoolwork. Paul still had a mountain of make-up work from his disappearance, and he tore through it like a man on a mission, only speaking if I asked him a question. He was farther along than I in Calculus, so he helped me with a few problems that gave me trouble, but mostly he hunched over his own books and wrote in neat block letters, pages and pages worth of assignments, under my fascinated sideways gaze. Sometimes his hand moved faster than I could track—werewolf speed coming to his aid.

"You could bring your laptop," I pointed out after a while. "Or use mine."

"That's okay," he answered, flipping through his Latin dictionary. "This teacher only wants handwritten work. I think it's so she can tell we did the problems ourselves, but it's not like we couldn't copy it off the Internet if we wanted to. Really dumb."

"Yeah, I think it takes some of them a while to catch up. My mom's kind of inept with the whole technology thing, and she's a teacher." I closed my book. "I'm going to get started on dinner. What do you want?" Before he could answer, another thought struck me. "Oh, hey, wait. Won't your mom be worried? Do you want to call her?"

"No, she knows I'm with you." He scribbled down a definition.

"She does? And she's okay with that?"

He sighed in exasperation, obviously bothered that he had to pause working, and looked up. "Yeah. She's fine with it. She likes you. She likes that you're not a ho and that your dad is Chief Swan because she thinks it'll keep me out of trouble. You're like her new second favorite person after Sam."

"She only met me once," I said, surprised.

"Yeah, but I told her all about you." He turned his attention back to his papers. "Can we have chicken Marsala again? Do you have the stuff you need for that?"

"Sure."

"Do you want me to help?"

"No, do your work. Next time, though." We had an extra pack of chicken breasts in the freezer; probably two pounds would be enough for him. I got it out and put it into the microwave to defrost, and that was when I realized I couldn't delay talking to Jake anymore. Telling Paul, "I'd better call Jacob or he'll come down here to check on me," I wandered into the other room with my phone.

"Bells!" he said, picking up mid-first-ring. "Where the hell have you been? Are you okay? Where's Paul?"

"I'm fine, Jake, promise," I told him, sitting on the couch. "Paul's with me. I'm really sorry I didn't call before. I'm kinda surprised you didn't come to Forks and break down my door."

"I wanted to, but Sam made me stay," he replied with the not-very-well-concealed resentment he always showed when Sam gave out an Alpha order. "He's worried about the redhead trying to get through the rez boundaries during the day now for some reason."

"I'm sorry he made you stay," I sympathized, and meant it. "I'm glad I had Paul. It was really strange to be back there. I almost couldn't handle it."

"I wish I could've helped you," he said sadly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I am now; I wasn't for a while. I got the clothes, though. I'll bring them up tomorrow."

"Where's Paul?"

I glanced back at the kitchen. Paul looked up—of course he could hear the entire conversation—and lifted his eyebrows sardonically at me. _Why don't you tell him, Isabella? Tell him where I was a couple hours ago—under you, in your bed._ "He's here," I replied. "I figure the least I can do is feed the poor guy dinner, considering he got to talk me through a mini nervous breakdown a little bit ago." The microwave beeped, telling me to flip the chicken over. "Speaking of which, I have to go take care of the food. I'll bring you leftovers when I bring up the clothes, okay?"

"Sure you don't want me to come over?"

I hesitated, walking to the microwave, then said, "It's fine. I'll see you tomorrow." Tomorrow. I was going to have to fix this tomorrow.

Silence on the other end. Finally, he said, "Okay. See you then." We said our goodbyes and hung up.

Paul shook his head at the table, flipping his Latin book closed and reaching for English. "Fucking ridiculous, Isabella," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Yeah, probably," I admitted, flipping the chicken and hitting "start" again.

He twiddled his pen back and forth over his fingers, tapping it on his notebook. _Tap tap tap tap._ "He's been getting more confused. When I phase I can hear it. It's been three days since I got back and he knows something's different. I'm not going to push it, because you've pretty much had the day from hell, but you've got to start thinking about how you're going to tell him if you haven't already." He paused, and then offered, "Either that, or let me do it when you're not around, if that's what you need."

I frowned. Even I wasn't that lost to the requirements of friendship. "No. I'll tell him tomorrow, as soon as I see him again. I just want to do it face-to-face. Okay?"

"If that's what you want." He shrugged, turning his attention to his book.

I started unloading the drain board. "None of this is what I wanted." The stab of pain that cut me to the heart after I said the words almost made me gasp. What—oh. Oh. That was _Paul's_ hurt. I spun around to see him continuing to copy down review questions. I could only see his back, but he seemed unperturbed on the surface, movements economical and precise as his pen scratched against the paper. I almost dismissed the feeling—but no. That definitely wasn't my emotion I sensed.

Great. What should I do now? I'd spoken the truth. What I had wanted was for Edward to return, turn me into a vampire, and stay with me forever. Anything besides that wasn't what I had wanted, so, how should I comfort the boy who really _would_ stay with me for the rest of my life, without lying to him, since I couldn't?

The ease with which I could hurt Paul without intention really sucked. I wasn't used to being the one with power in a relationship, and getting used to the different dynamic was kind of tough. Well, if I could hurt him, I could make him feel better, too.

Slowly, I stepped toward him and put my hands on his bare shoulders—he was wearing Charlie's board shorts again and nothing else. He relaxed under my touch. His pen stopped moving and he sighed, tilting his head back a little. I leaned down and nuzzled his neck, and then kissed the muscle above his collarbone. "I'm glad you saved me. I'm glad I'm still alive," I said, as softly as I could so I wouldn't hurt his ears. "I didn't want that either, you know. Sometimes I'm too stupid to know what I should want." I slid my arms around his neck, pressing my front into his back.

Paul put one hand over where my arms crossed and leaned his head back just a bit more, turning so that his face was against my neck too. The foreign ache around my heart faded, leaving happy contentment in its place.

"I'm glad you're still alive too," he said after a minute, breath hot against my skin. He kissed my jaw and then released me, bending over his schoolwork again.

After dinner, he helped me clean up. I stuck a plate in the oven for Charlie and turned to Paul, who was putting the butter back in the fridge. "I wish you could spend the night. This sucks."

"Yeah, it's rough," he agreed. "I have to go see my mom for a while, before she leaves for work again. If I can, I'll come back here after, okay? It depends on when she takes off."

"I'll keep my window open," I said, smiling at him. Paul grinned and grabbed me, swinging me up and onto the counter. I squealed a little, then moaned when he stepped between my legs, sliding his hands up under my shirt and kissing me like he wanted to start something instead of leave. I skimmed my hands up his arms—silky-smooth fire against my palms—and opened my mouth under his. His fingers traced the edges of my bra, dipped under the fabric, drawing lines over my skin and making my chest heave as I clung to his shoulders. "Every time you touch me, I feel like I'm losing my mind," I gasped out against his mouth.

"Fuck, yes, me too," he groaned, pushing my bra out of his way without bothering to unclasp it. He palmed my breasts with both hands. "I don't want to leave you."

I dropped one hand to press against where he was already hard. He rocked into my grasp, eyes half-shut. "Then don't," the other-me demanded, but I spoke right after her, "Or, no, go see your mom and come right back."

"Yeah," he breathed against my shoulder, and bit me on the crook of my neck. The pressure of his teeth made my legs fall open limply, almost as if they _had_ to when he did that. " _My_ Isabella."

It was the first time he'd said that, and it thrilled me to the core. I was about to say "Oh, forget it, stay here forever," when he stilled abruptly.

"Your dad just turned onto the street. I'll see you soon." He kissed me one last time and jogged out the back door, leaving me breathless and aching. I yanked my bra back into its place, trying to gather my thoughts together, and then smoothed down my hair just as the front door opened.

"Bells?" Charlie walked in. "What're you doing up there, kiddo?"

"I . . . " I stared at him blankly. "Just thinking." I slid off to the floor. "I saved you dinner."

"Okay." Charlie looked at me narrow-eyed.

"Everything okay?" I asked, putting his plate in front of him along with a fork and knife.

He picked them up absentmindedly, still staring. After a second, though, he just said, "Yeah. Fine," and went into the living room. I breathed a sigh of relief and headed up to my room to get ready for bed and wait.


	12. In Which Bella Gets Busted

It was too hot. Still half-asleep, I kicked off all the blankets, and only then realized the reason I was burning up: Paul was nearby.

Before I completed the thought, the mattress dipped under his weight. "Hey," I murmured, reaching for him without opening my eyes. "C'mere." I blindly grabbed the edge of his shorts and tugged. "Why are you dressed? Take these off."

He laughed—a low exhalation of breath—and obeyed, then slid over to hold me, one arm going under my head and the other pulling me close by the small of my back. "Why are you _not_ dressed? Believe it or not, I don't always expect you to start fucking me the second you see me."

"That's weird. It's like you don't even know me." I smiled as he sucked on my earlobe. "Of course, technically, I _haven't_ seen you yet. My eyes are still closed. If I open them, what do you think'll happen?"

"You could try it and find out," he suggested, nibbling on my jaw. A hum of appreciation vibrated in his throat. "You smell so good."

I inhaled deeply and kissed his temple as I lifted my hands to his hair. "God. You too. It's funny, when you phase back you don't smell like soap or anything. Just you."

"Good, 'cause that flowery shit was making me feel like I washed my balls down the drain in the shower."

I giggled. "Really? Oh no. That would be a tragic loss. Here, let me check." I slid my hand down his chest and stomach, and then trailed my fingers up and down his erection. "Ooh, very nice."

He gasped, and twitched under my hand. "Holy _shit_ , Isabella."

"But, not what I was looking for." I went a little lower and he shivered. "Ah. No, they're still here. See? I found them."

He nipped my chin. I flinched and giggled again. I could hear the smile in his voice as he chastised, "Little cocktease." His free hand went to my breast, stroking my nipple with his thumb.

"It's only teasing if I don't plan to have sex with you," I corrected, arching into his touch.

"Well, you still haven't opened your eyes, so I'm starting to get a little worried here." He moved his hand down to my ass. "I know how to make you do what I want, though. Don't make me go down on you again."

"Absolutely not. That would be terrible." This was fun. I'd never heard Paul be so playful. Maybe it was because he was tired. Maybe it was the full moon outside, still unconcealed by clouds. I'd left the blinds and curtains open and I could see the light even through my eyelids. I slid my leg up and over his hip. "I think I already owe you at least one blow job."

"You can't pay me back yet. I need to let interest build up." He moved his hand to my knee and pulled me against him more tightly.

"I'm interested," I managed to breathe as I licked and bit across his chest.

"Not interested enough." He kissed his way down my throat and chest and sucked on my nipple. I shivered with delight. Hot, hot, hot—I loved the feel of his lips so much. "I bet I could make you come if I just did that long enough."

"No you couldn't," I disagreed. "You're a sex god, sure, but that's impossible, no matter what romance novels say."

"I _am_ a sex god. About time you admitted it. And sex gods can work fucking miracles." He lapped my nipple with the flat of his tongue. I moaned. "I could totally do it."

"Seems like a waste of an orgasm," I grumbled. "I like it best when you're inside me."

"No such thing as a wasted orgasm . . . for girls anyway," he corrected, and moved to the other side. "You can always come again."

I laughed softly, running my fingers through his hair. I knew he liked it when he could feel my nails against his scalp. I could feel the happy jump in his emotions every time I did it. Imprinting's empathetic aspect was pretty useful for sex. "I can't _always_ come again."

"Sure you can." He drew my nipple deep in his mouth, sucking it hard. I squeezed my eyes shut more tightly and arched up higher. He let go to say, "I just haven't made you because I didn't want to scare you off. Except that one time."

I couldn't talk for a second, but managed to catch my breath and pretend be at a loss. "That . . . one time? I don't remember any time like that." I remembered it _so_ well. It was burned into my brain. "If that did happen, I'm pretty sure it would be because _I'm_ a sex _goddess_ , not because you had anything to do with it."

"Is that a challenge?" he wanted to know, lifting his head; I could hear the smirk in his voice. "Two or three times? Tell me now."

I gaped for a second.

He chuckled. "Fine. Three. Greedy bitch. Keep your eyes closed or you won't be able to control yourself."

"That's impossible, and I'm not a gree—holy _crap,_ Paul!" I gasped, because he'd already pushed my legs open and licked a straight line from my knee all the way up my thigh. "I told you not to do that till I get a chance to pay you back."

"You had your chance." He licked my leg again, pausing about halfway up to lave a particularly sensitive spot. I twitched. It felt like he'd plugged me into an electrical socket. "Now I guess I'm going to have to invest more principle. My reputation's—" He licked the inside of my other thigh. I yelped. "—At stake."

"Your reputation's probably secure for the next century," I grumbled, and giggled when he nipped me once more. I managed to sound bored when I spoke again, though. "Well, get it over with, then. I don't have all night."

He laughed, face less than an inch from where I wanted him to be. I could tell because I could feel his breath against my skin. "Too bad, because I do." He just barely traced the outer edges of my folds with his tongue, a thin line of fire to set me alight. "Should I go back home? Let you get your sleep?"

"Nuh-uh." He did it again, and I grabbed his hair and tried to direct him where I needed him. It was wasted effort, of course. "Paul!"

He pressed his tongue to my clit, not moving it, using just enough pressure to make me crazy, then pulled away. "Yeah?"

I tried to talk, but all that came out was "Ngh!"

He laughed again and edged his teeth down. His tongue dipped inside me and I writhed, but his hands on my hips kept me from pulling away. I gasped and swore at him while he kept going, in and out until I felt like my head was going to explode. He licked up to my clit again, sucking on it while he put two fingers inside me, and I bit my fist as I started helplessly convulsing around his hand.

When I could talk again, I grumbled, "Okay, you've made your point, now get up here." He didn't stop. I was so sensitive down there I could barely stand it. "Paul! I can't—stop it!" I could feel his shoulders shaking with amusement, but he just kept on moving his hand and licking and sucking, making me moan and mutter and beg until finally inspiration struck and I whispered, "Paul. Please fuck me, Paul. Please."

I'd never said the f-word out loud before, but I was glad I had, because he froze for a second and then he was up on my level again, next to me, mouth so rough on mine that I couldn't breathe. I tore away and moved down to his chest again, sucking his nipples. "Oh, did you like that?"

Paul's voice was deeper than normal when he answered. "Shit. Stop playing; you're making me fucking insane."

I didn't want to play around anymore either. "Okay. Come on, I want . . ." I turned on my side toward him, put my leg over his waist again and guided him inside me. We shuddered as we joined together.

Paul gasped when I tilted my hips and just like that, we were both desperate. One of his hands dug into my knee; the other wound itself into my hair. "Yeah, I want that too. Give it to me."

"Take it," I urged, pulling him against me with my calf.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ You're so fucking tight. Goddammit." He sounded like he could barely speak. I _loved_ being the one who had that effect on him.

"Oh God, oh God . . ." I moaned as he started moving faster. " _Paul."_

"So fucking hot, so goddamn fucking hot," he growled. "Isabella." He grabbed my upper thigh, hard. I was going to have bruises again. The thought turned me on even more. "Look at me. Come on, Isabella, look at me."

Oh yeah. I still hadn't looked at him. I was so aroused I could barely force my eyelids to rise, but I managed to obey. The second our gazes met, and I saw all the need and love and sheer raw want that he usually tried to conceal, my orgasm shot through me like wildfire. I bucked against him uncontrollably, clenching my jaw against the scream that wanted to escape through my teeth, digging my nails into his forearm, all the while unable to look away from him.

He groaned, "Yes, fuck, _yes_ ," and flipped us so that I was on my back and he could drive into me more forcefully.

My body just wouldn't quit; I clenched and spasmed around him while he moved, moaning and begging and raking my nails up and down his back. It felt like I hadn't finished coming the second time before I started coming again. It was too much. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on for dear life as the euphoria overwhelmed me, hiding my face against him.

"Jesus . . . Isabella . . ." He slammed into me with every word. "I . . . _love_. . . fucking you."

I nodded frantically into his chest. "Me too, me too . . . _God_ , Paul, you're _so good_ at this."

With one final thrust, he shoved up to the hilt and groaned again, a garbled mixture of swearing and my name and other words I couldn't quite understand spilling out of his mouth while he pulsed inside me.

He collapsed and rolled beside me, pulling me on top of him and kissing my head. I waited until I could catch my breath and then managed to whisper, "I think I was just way too loud."

He was silent for a second, then said, "It's okay. Your dad's still sleeping. Heart rate hasn't sped up at all." He pulled me up a little higher and licked my neck, wet heat trailing from my collarbone to my ear. "You taste good too."

I lay my head down on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. "That's what I gather, since you can't seem to stop eating me."

He gave a sharp bark of laughter. "I can't believe you just said that. Where'd you put my Isabella?"

My Isabella. It sounded perfect. "That's Sex Goddess to you. Sex goddesses can say things like that." I kissed him. "Don't pretend you don't like it. I could tell it turned you on."

"I fucking love it." He ran his hands up and down my back. "You owe me big-time now, Sex Goddess. You'd better be ready to pay up when I say."

"Mmm." I was too tired to talk anymore. "Wanna go to sleep."

"Okay." He shifted us to our sides and fumbled under my pillow. "Here's your clothes."

"I like being naked with you," I mumbled, trying to turn away from him.

"You won't like it if you freeze after I leave."

I held my arms up and let him pull my shirt over my head, pouting. "I _hate_ it when you leave me."

"I do too. It sucks." He pulled my shorts up over my hips and turned to spoon me. "I'll be gone before you wake up, but I'll see you at the rez after school."

I put my arm over his where it rested on my waist. "'Kay. Glad you came down. Missed you so much."

Paul pressed against every inch of the back of my body. "I missed you, too. Go to sleep."

When I woke up in the morning I was alone again, securely enfolded in every blanket he could find; I guessed he was worried about me getting cold without him. After I turned off my alarm, I gazed at my phone's wallpaper for a minute—it was a picture of Quil and Embry ganging up on Jacob. All three of them wore their usual sunny grins, as carefree as three boys who never got any sleep and risked their lives on a regular basis could be. I looked at their faces, and I wondered how I would bear alienating myself from Jacob, and, by extension, his closest friends. Undoubtedly they would be on his side when I hurt him, as they should be.

It didn't matter. I had pushed this act to the limits. I was endangering our friendship through silence rather than confession, and it had to end, because Paul was completely vital to my well-being now. Without him, I'd still be half-frozen in the ice Edward's departure had left around my heart. I couldn't hide that from the people around us very successfully. It would be a relief to have it in the open.

Charlie knocked on my door. "Bells?"

"Yeah, come in," I answered, sitting up in bed.

He cautiously opened the door an inch—in case I had decided to suddenly strip since I invited him in?—and then stood in the door. "Hey, kiddo. How you doing?"

I shrugged. "Fine, I guess. What's up?"

His brow furrowed. "I, uh—" He stared down at nothing for a minute, nodded to himself as if he had come to some sort of decision, and then, still not looking at me, asked, "Who was with you here last night?"

I froze. Charlie looked up to meet my eyes. We stared at each other for a moment, and then finally I croaked out a really unoriginal, "Huh?" Crap, I _knew_ I'd been too loud, no matter what Paul said.

He shook his head, looking disappointed. "Bells. I know it was a guy. You've got a . . ." He moved his finger in a half-circle over his neck. "And there were two plates and two forks in the drain board."

Oh. Phew. Still not great, but not as bad as being overheard by my dad while banging the bad boy from La Push. I fingered the crook of my neck. Feeling nothing, I turned to the mirror over my desk and saw a mouth-shaped mark in the skin. Holy crow, how had that happened?

"Unless . . . It _was_ a guy, wasn't it? I wouldn't blame you . . . If you didn't want a boy . . . If that's why you're . . . I'll still care about you no matter what, you know that, right?" he stammered out, turning red.

It took me a minute to decipher the string of seemingly disconnected fragments, and when I did I could feel myself blush crimson with mingled embarrassment and amusement. "Dad, I'm only . . . It's okay. I don't have a girlfriend."

He nodded. "So? Who was it?"

I bit my lip and answered, "A friend of Jake's."

Charlie's eyebrows shot up. "A kid from the rez?" When I nodded, he asked, "Why don't you want to tell me his name?"

I sighed. "Sam said—"

"Sam knows him?"

"Yeah, he's kind of a part of Sam's . . . group or whatever." I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them. "He used to get in trouble but he's straightened himself out, the past few months. He and Sam and Jared are pretty close, but he's friends with Jake, Quil, Embry . . ."

"That's why you haven't said anything," Charlie realized. "You don't want it getting back to Jake." I nodded miserably. Charlie ambled to the foot of the bed and sat down, patting my foot. "Who is it, Bells?"

"Paul Miller." Charlie sat up straight, frowning, but I hurried on before he could say anything. "I know he's got a bad reputation, but I swear, Dad, he's really turned his life around. He's super smart, he does all sorts of online courses and he works so hard. And he wants to go to college, too."

"I'm not worried about his report card, Bells, I'm worried about _you_ ," Charlie replied. "That boy's a menace to anything in a skirt."

"Then . . . it's a good thing I only wear jeans?" I laughed, but stopped when he started looking mad. "Sorry. Um. I think I can safely swear that he's not going to be interested in anybody but me. Ever."

Charlie clearly didn't believe this, but he just asked, "When you planning on letting Jake know about this? I thought you two were pretty tight, and you know he's been hoping . . ." He trailed off, and I realized that Jake hadn't been the only one hoping.

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back and said, "I know I need to. I was just thinking about it before you knocked. I just . . . I don't know _how_. I don't want to lose him."

"Bells, I'd guess that you're already losing him just because you're a terrible liar. He's got to know something's different, whether or not you've told him."

That was unexpectedly verbose for my dad. I sighed. "You're right. I'll tell him. I promise. Just . . . Don't say anything to Billy yet?"

He patted my foot again. "Yeah. Don't worry about that."

I could hear what he wasn't saying: _Don't worry; I don't want to be the one responsible for hurting Jake._ The problem was, neither did I.

He hesitated again, and I could see him mustering up the words he needed to say. It took him a really, really long time. "I know you hate hurting people, Bells. And you hate having people get mad at you. We're kind of alike that way, you know?" I nodded. "But . . . You know, I've seen a lot, because of work, and because I'm, well, I guess old from your point of view." We smiled at each other. I didn't think Charlie was old but I got what he was saying. "So . . . if you're worried about Jake . . . I'm pretty sure you're supposed to get your heart broken once or twice when you're a teenager." He met my eyes and spoke with careful emphasis. "And then you get over it. Because that's what happens when you're in high school. The person you thought you'd be in love with forever turns out to be a friend instead, if you're lucky. You get what I'm saying?"

Oh my God. Charlie actually had a real, live parenting moment, and for once I didn't resent it. But I had to point out, "You didn't get over it."

He laughed. He actually _laughed. "_ Well, yeah, Bells. I did. I kind of like being a bachelor. Can you imagine some woman putting up with my ball games and fishing trips and everything else? I sure as hell can't." He ruffled my hair. "Go ahead and get ready for school, kiddo. I'll see you later."

After school, I went home to get clothes and leftovers, then headed straight up to La Push. All the way there, I practiced what I would say to Jake.

 _Jake, I know you were hoping to hit this but Paul got there first, like whoa._ Ha ha ha. No. __

 _So Jake. Remember how I used to be all depressed and not eat and now for the past three weeks I've been crazy in a new way?_ No. __

 _Remember after I went cliff-diving and you asked why I was walking funny?_ For God's sake, Bella. __

_Jake, there's something I should have told you three and a half weeks ago, but I was sure it wouldn't work out and I was scared I would lose you when you found out about it._

That. That would have to be it.

When I got to the rez, though, I didn't go to Jacob's. I felt restless, again, and I'd come to recognize that signal—the imprint wanted me to find Paul. I found myself at Emily's, and as soon as I pulled up half the pack spilled out of the door to greet me. I felt the flash of heat that let me know Paul was nearby, but I didn't see him. Before I got out of the truck, I tugged the collar of my flannel shirt closed a little more.

"Bells!" Jacob grabbed me by the shoulders as soon as I slammed the door; he pulled me in for a hug, stepped back to look at me, and then hugged me again.

"Can't—breathe—" I managed to gasp out, as his arms squeezed so tightly it felt like my ribs would collide.

"I can't believe you did that yesterday," he said. "You were so brave." He released me. I looked around to see myself surrounded by somber faces; all the boys looked like they were examining me closely, checking that I was okay.

Heat crept up my neck and over my face. "No, I wasn't," I contradicted. The door opened again, and Paul stepped out. His eyes moved over me, even though he kept his attention on Jake. I suddenly noticed that although my face was still toward Jacob, my body had reoriented itself toward Paul again. I turned my head to hide it, and said to him, "I can't believe you showed them that."

"They needed to know what you went through before they asked you to do something like that again," he said matter-of-factly. His hands were in his pockets again, and I thought it was maybe for the same reason as yesterday: he didn't trust himself not to reach for me.

I shoved my hands into my back pockets, too. "They didn't ask," I reminded him. "I volunteered."

"They needed to see the interior of the house, too," he replied with a shrug.

"I could have drawn a floor plan," I argued. "You didn't have to upset everyone."

"Isabella. They needed to know," he said, and his tone was so firm that I realized any further argument was pointless.

With a start, I realized that our bodies were only inches apart. We had moved toward each other without meaning to while we spoke. At least, I hadn't meant to move.

Everyone was looking at us. Jake's eyebrows were somewhere around his hairline. "Yeah. Okay, freak shows. Give each other some space. Paul, get out of her face."

I turned away, trying to make the movement as nonchalant as possible. "Fine, Paul. If you say so."

"Nobody calls her Isabella," Embry said quietly. His eyebrows were furrowed.

I gave him a fearful glance and spoke to Jacob. "Anyway, I wasn't brave. You saw that, if Paul showed you what happened yesterday. I practically passed out. It was stupid."

Jacob looked away from Embry and back at me. "It was really hard and you did it anyway. That's brave," he said firmly. "Come on inside; we were just talking about what to do next."

"Bella!" Emily exclaimed as soon as she saw me. She pulled me into a quick embrace, and dragged me to the table, placing a plate full of scones in front of me. "Here. Eat. You had a rough day yesterday. Would you like some tea?"

"Just water, thank you," I said, smiling at her. Emily thought everything could be solved with food, but her baking was so good I wasn't going to argue the point just now.

Sam leaned against the counter in front of me. He looked from Paul to me and back again—I could feel Paul standing behind me and to my right. "All right, Bella. What you did yesterday really helped us out. I don't think, from what Paul said, that we can convince the redhead that the other vampire is living at the house. I do think we can trick her into thinking that the two of you were there, together, and that you might come back together as well."

"And I said that it's a stupid idea," Jake spoke up, glaring at Sam.

"You saw what it did to her, Sam; you _saw_ it," Quil agreed, looking equally angry.

I glanced over my shoulder at Paul. He stood with arms crossed, legs apart; his face was expressionless. I knew he was hungry, though, so I picked up one of the scones and handed it to him before I said to Sam, "Tell me what you want me to do. I'll decide if it's stupid." I took a bite and waited.

He nodded and reached for Emily's hand as she moved to stand beside him. "If you can, we want to set up a perimeter in the woods outside the Cullens' house, far enough away from you where it will just look like we're tracking you instead of protecting you. Then we want—"

"It's not _we_ , it's _you,"_ Jacob growled.

Sam ignored his interruption. "You to walk through the woods, leaving a trail with yours and Edward's clothes." I flinched when he said the name. He added, "I'm sorry. If you can do that, leading her to the house, when she gets to the open area around the place she should be vulnerable."

I kept eating, thinking it over in silence. Finally, I dared to ask the other-me, _think we can do this?_ It was the first time I'd actually tried to engage her in conversation rather than just have her take over when I couldn't fight her anymore.

The answer came back immediately. _Yes. Yes. Do it. End this._

"I'd go in the daytime, right?" I asked finally.

Jacob groaned, smacking his hand over his eyes and turning away. Sam spoke over him. "Of course. Because she seems to prefer moving at night, you would probably be safe even if we weren't there."

"Probably!" Quil and Embry exclaimed together, moving behind Jacob just as they always did—the hive mind of the pack sometimes seemed to split in two groups, and Jake's best friends always ended up on his left and right while he took point.

Leah Clearwater spoke up from the doorway, where she stood in the shadows. "If she wants to do it, she should. This is all her leech's fault, anyway. It's the least she can do, as far as I'm concerned."

"Shut the fuck up, Leah," Jacob barked. I started—I'd never heard him talk to anyone like that. Everyone else pivoted their heads to glare at her—except Paul. I turned in my chair to check on him. He still stood absolutely motionless, staring at me.

"Okay." I shrugged and looked at Sam. "I'll do it. You guys'll be around me, though, right?"

"Yes," Sam answered, at the exact same moment Paul said, "No."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, giving Paul a look. "Paul, if she's willing to do this—"

"No," Paul said again, and I realized that I didn't feel anything from him because he was beyond fury. At any second he was going to reach out and snap Sam's neck, or make his best effort, and it would be with the same clinical detachment that his voice displayed.

"Paul, _no_ ," I said, leaping to my feet.

He moved, finally, but it was to point at me, like _I'll deal with you later,_ while saying to Sam, "No."

Sam's expression changed, grew wary. "Paul, this is her decision."

" _No_." He stood still, his hands completely steady, but I sensed a _coiling_ in his muscles that spurred me into action. I flung myself across the room and into him; it felt like I'd smacked into a wall. Everyone else stood motionless, warned by instinct about the danger they faced. 

"Don't do it," I told Paul, voice muffled against his skin.

He put his hands on my waist. I realized he was about to set me aside and go straight to killing Sam, so I stood on his feet and wrapped my arms around him as tightly as I could, digging my nails into his back to try to get his attention.

"Let go of me," he gritted out between his teeth, fingers pressing grooves into my hips.

"And let you murder him? No!"

"That's better than letting him put you in danger!"

He reached for my arms, but I yanked them away and threw them around his neck instead. "Paul, I need you to calm down!"

He grabbed my wrists. I bit his chest.

Instantly, the dam on his emotions broke; his rage flooded through him and into me. I staggered back a few steps, trying to get a handle on it. "This is abso-fucking-lutely out of the question, Isabella!" he shouted. "There is no goddamn way I'm going to allow it!"

"You can't allow me to do anything!" I shrieked back, shaking with the anger I couldn't suppress. "I'll do whatever the hell will keep you—all of you—safest!"

He took one step toward me—one step back—then roared _"Fuck!"_ and ripped off one of the cabinet doors, throwing it across the kitchen and through the door, narrowly missing Leah's face. If she hadn't had werewolf reflexes herself, she would have had a broken nose and two black eyes. As it was, _Emily_ now had—I craned my neck to see—a broken vase and a huge dent in her wall. The rest of the pack crouched back as one, warily giving him his space, except for Jacob and Sam.

"Paul, calm down," Sam ordered, his voice taking on that extra-deep tone that meant he was issuing an Alpha order, but Paul just shook his head like an enraged bull.

"That Alpha shit doesn't work on me anymore, Sam," he growled. "You know that, so don't even fucking try. You can't do this to her; I won't let you. She's _mine._ "

"What the hell is this?" Jacob demanded. "Paul, you're acting—" Paul gave him a slit-eyed stare, daring him to comment. Jake's head slowly turned to me, and I waited in dread. "Like Jared with Kim," he whispered.

As I saw comprehension dawn on his face, my vision went blurry. "Holy shit," Jared muttered; I could see he was going over memories and drawing new conclusions. Emily and Sam sighed simultaneously. Everyone else shifted, darting shocked glances at each other.

"I was going to tell you," I said to Jake, hearing the inadequacy of the words and hating them, hating myself. "I was going to tell you today, but you were here instead of home."

"How long, Bella?" he asked. His lips trembled, but he pressed them together until they were firm again and asked, "How long have you been hiding this?"

His expression made me want to throw up. "Since the day I jumped off the cliff," I answered weakly.

"Bella, that was fucking weeks ago," he bit out, hands clenching into fists by his sides. Embry and Quil stirred uncomfortably, drawing closer to him; I didn't know if they were ready to hold him back or follow him into whatever action he decided to take. "You didn't think maybe I should know? I thought we were friends."

"We _are_ ," I protested, wringing my hands in front of me. "I was scared that you'd be mad at me, and he kept on trying to leave me, and . . ." Oh God. It sounded so stupid now that I could see the hurt and anger written all over him.

"Yeah. I get that." Jake tapped his fist against his thigh, shaking his head tightly as he stared past me, obviously reviewing the events that had happened since my cliff dive. Abruptly, rage twisted his features into something, some _one_ I didn't recognize.

For once, I moved faster than a werewolf. Before Jake could get his hands around Paul's throat, I stood in between them, fists clenched, snarling, _"Don't . . . you . . . touch him."_

I glanced behind me to check on Paul. He had turned half away from Jake and was staring at the floor, shoulders slumped, no fight left in him. That was fine. I had enough for both of us.

"Right! Protect _him!_ " Jake yelled, and I looked back at him in shock to hear Paul's words from our first meeting echoed from Jacob's mouth.

The instinctive urge to keep Paul safe faded enough for me to see what was going on underneath the anger, enough for me to remember: this was Jake. My best friend, and I was the one who had put that look of pain on his face. There was no explanation that would cover the depth of my deceit, so instead I tried, "Jake, I'm so, so sorry I did this to you."

The words had a noticeable effect; instead of leaning towards us like he was thinking of reaching over me to get to Paul, he rocked back on his heels.

Sam said, "Jacob. You've seen it from Jared's head. You've seen it from mine. You know this isn't something either of them chose. You need to consider that. They half killed themselves trying to fight it. Ask Paul to show you the next time you're both phased. Ask him."

The tremors faded from Jacob's hands. A dead silence fell over the room.

At last, he said, "Okay. Okay. I'm going now. You can do whatever the hell you want." He started stalking toward the door, Embry and Quil flanking him.

"Jake, _wait!_ " I called, starting after him, but Emily grabbed my wrist.

"You're the one who needs to wait, Bella," she said quietly, the door slamming giving punctuation to her words. "Give him some space."

I turned on her, ready to yank my arm free and run, but the sight of her scars reminded me that she knew more about this sort of thing than I did. My knees were too shaky to stand; I slowly lowered myself back into my chair and looked at my hands in my lap.

"It's not his fault," I said to everyone who was left, even though I couldn't make myself lift my head to address them. "It's not Paul's fault. I made him do it. He kind of didn't have a choice. Don't be mad at him."

"That sounds like—" Leah began, a sneer in her voice, but Jared and Sam cut her off at the same time.

"You don't know what it's like, Leah," they retorted. I winced on her behalf—talk about rubbing salt in the wound.

Silence filled the room for another minute, and then Sam spoke. "All right. Let's focus on a course of action."

"I'm going to do this," I said firmly, finally able to make myself look up at Paul. "You aren't going to stop me. It's the only way I can help."

I must have finally convinced him, because he snapped out, "Jesus, whatever the fuck you want, it's only your _life_ ," and followed Jacob out the door, slamming it so hard that it swung back open again on loosened hinges. His words didn't bother me—I could feel his fear and concern under the anger—but Sam, Emily, Jared, and Seth all gave me sympathetic looks.

I shrugged. "I'm fine. He's just worried. Okay, when should I do this? I have work tomorrow, so probably it would have to be the day after at the earliest." I wasn't fine. I was barely holding myself together, but the other-me didn't care about Jake. She only cared about keeping Paul safe, and that meant staying calm enough to plan.

Sam nodded. "All right, that'll work. You'll have to start at the house, walk out as far as you can, and bring his clothes with you. Rub them on every available surface you can find. We'll be there, but not close enough for you to see or hear, okay? We don't want her to think that we're with the two of you, just that we're keeping tabs on you."

 _The two of you._ I might throw up after all. "I may get lost; I have a horrible sense of direction," I said, smiling half-heartedly. __

"Leave scraps of his clothes behind for markers," Sam replied, clearly not caring much about damage to Edward's property. "And do like we talked about before: clean out your hairbrush and leave that lying around as you go. The goal is to make her so focused on your scent that she doesn't really pause to think through her course of action. If she does think about it even for a little bit, she'll probably see right through it, but she seems so bent on revenge that it's damaged her ability to reason. Otherwise she'd stop trying to go through the rez to get to you."

"Okay." I sighed and rose to my feet. "I have to go find Paul. I'll see you guys day after tomorrow." Day after tomorrow, because I wouldn't be coming to La Push to see Jacob after work the way I always had before. The thought made me want to break down, but there wasn't time right now. I gave a wave to everyone, including Leah—if I was going to be a wolf girl forever, there was no sense in matching her hostility—and grabbed two scones to go, eating one as I walked on trembling knees out into the yard. I let the imprint tell me where to go, wandering through the trees, until I got to his house. His mom was pulling out just as I walked up the drive; she stopped and lowered her window.

"Hi, Ms. Miller—I mean, Diana," I said, forcing a smile.

"Hi, Bella." Her warm answering smile reminded me of Paul's words—I almost laughed at the memory of the low standards I had to meet. "Not a ho" had never sounded like a compliment before. "Paul's inside. Help yourself to anything in the house."

"Thanks. Have a good night at work."

"I'll try; thanks, honey." She put her window up as she started backing out again.

The "honey" brought to mind everything I was avoiding. I shoved grief down as hard as I could and kept on walking up to the front door. I knocked as I opened it a little. "Paul?"

"Back in my room," I heard him answer. I walked back and stood in the door to his bedroom. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Hey," I said after a moment, since he seemed ready to stay silent forever. "Are you okay?"

"I just ripped my brother's heart out and then had my imprint volunteer to risk her mind and life," he said flatly. "I'm fuckawesome. Best day of my life."

I shook my head, leaning on the doorframe. "No, I'm the one who ripped his heart out. This is all on me."

He turned his head on his arm to look at me. For an instant, his mask slipped, and I caught my breath at the misery I saw. "Isabella. _Please_ don't go out there."

"I have to." Paul rolled his eyes, but more like he was trying to hold tears back than like he wanted to express his disgust, and returned his gaze to the ceiling. "Can I come over there, or are you too mad?"

"Come here." He edged over toward the wall, leaving enough room for me, as long as I draped myself all over him the way I usually did.

Fine with me—it felt like lifetimes since I'd held him last night. I kicked off my shoes and climbed in with him, wrapping my top arm and leg over his chest and thighs. He curved his arm around me, but apparently that wasn't enough, because he turned on his side and tugged me against him that way instead. I buried my face in between his neck and shoulder and breathed him in.

"I really, really hope he's okay," I sighed, shoving down the tears that wanted to spill over. No matter how awful I felt, I didn't want Paul to think it was his fault. I leaned up to kiss him.

Paul kissed me back, but not for long. "Isabella." He pulled his head back and looked me in the eye. "Tell me the truth. Do you hate me now?"

I shook my head, mystified. "Why would I?"

"Because I think I just cost you Jake, and he's worth a hell of a lot more than me."

I waited for him to voice some sort of qualifier, to make some sort of joke to lighten the statement, but he didn't.

After a second, sudden revelation dawned, nearly choking me with a different sadness. I managed to say, "That's why you left me, isn't it? _That's_ the real reason. I knew it was more than just you being worried about Jake. You thought he was what I needed, instead of you. Because you think he's so much _better_ than you."

Paul had absolutely no expression on his face as he nodded in reply.

Sighing, I turned possible responses over in my mind. There were issues of friendship and trust here; Jake's ability to read me didn't only flow in one direction, and I didn't want to betray his confidence, even his unspoken confidence. But I couldn't allow Paul to keep thinking this way. Choosing my words carefully, I said, "You've seen me, the way I was before. You found me in the woods. You saw me in Jake's head, his memory of how I looked when I first came to La Push, right?"

"Yeah, I saw you," he answered, still giving me his complete attention.

"Um . . . I'll just put it this way." I sighed. "Any guy who fell for _that_ girl? Clearly has issues of his own. We're not the only ones who are messed up in this triangle. Trust me." I leaned up to kiss him again. "I think you're worth a lot, Paul. You didn't cost me Jake. Maybe I did. You told me to tell him the truth and I didn't. But imprinting on me wasn't either of our faults, so I'm not going to blame you no matter what. I don't hate you. I really, really like you. I don't know how to live without you anymore."

It was true. I also _loved_ him, but it would just sound stupid to tell him that, especially since I knew love was beside the point. He probably didn't even care one way or another. Staying counted way more than loving.

Paul's mouth twitched up at one corner. It wasn't even half a smile, but at least it wasn't unhappiness. "Well, that's something anyway." Without warning, he rolled me onto my back and kissed me, hard. I wrapped my arms around his neck and opened my mouth beneath his, responding to the edge of desperation in the force of his lips and tongue. He buried his face in my hair after a second, like he couldn't look at me when he spoke. "I don't know how . . . I can't . . . it's gonna suck. When you go out there."

My heart clenched at the despondency in his voice. "You guys'll be there. And it's not like I have to go back in the house. I'll be okay."

"But what if you're not?" he demanded, still hiding his face. His arms closed around me like iron bands. "Isabella. I don't think you know how much . . . Fuck."

I couldn't breathe, but now seemed like a bad time to demand some space. Instead, I stroked his hair and kissed his head. I could feel the words he couldn't say: _I don't know how to handle you being in danger. I can't stand the thought of what'll happen if I can't protect you. I don't think you know how much I need you._ Maybe I did, though. If he needed me half as much as I needed him, I could understand exactly why he felt so insane at the thought of me going out in the woods. It couldn't be helped.

I knew there were no words I could speak to make things easier, so I held him instead. I sent him as much calm as possible through our bond, while his shoulders trembled under my arms and he drew ragged breaths against my neck. He wasn't crying, but he was really close to falling apart.

After a while, he managed to regain some of his composure. Taking a deep breath, he ran his nose up and down my neck, then paused when the motion pushed my collar away from my shoulder. "Hey. I didn't think I bit you that hard last night, buddy. I'm sorry."

I raised my hand to cover the mark. "It's all right, it doesn't hurt." I sighed as another thought occurred to me. "Oh, yeah, I forgot. We're busted all-around; my dad noticed this and the plates we used last night, so I told him about you this morning. You can expect the loaded shotgun treatment when you meet him. I guess we should get it over with soon." I giggled in spite of myself. "Apparently you're a danger to anything in a skirt."

"Then I guess it's a good thing you only wear jeans," he answered with a chuckle, pulling my collar aside and kissing my shoulder.

"That's what I said!" I pushed my fingers into his hair to hold him against me. "He didn't think it was very funny, though."

He lifted his head, holding my face in both his hands, and rubbed his thumbs across my cheekbones. "I have more make-up work I need to catch up on. Plus I've got patrols tonight." He dropped a kiss on my nose and then, like he couldn't just leave it at that, kissed my eyelids and cheeks.

I looked at him for a second, and then I said, "I think it can wait."

Paul laughed softly. "You don't need me to fuck you right now. I can always tell, you know."

"I know that." I unbuttoned my shirt as I spoke. "But I think you need me." I drew it off, then started working on my jeans and underwear. "Plus, I always pay my debts."

He watched, neither helping nor hindering, as I kicked them off, but when I reached for the button of his cut-offs, he put his hand over mine, stopping it in its path. "Isabella, you don't have to—

 "I know that, too." At that he dropped his hand and let me push off his shorts, then lay down on his back. " _My_ Paul," I breathed, and kissed my way down his stomach to take him into my mouth, offering wordless reassurance in the best way I knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: "Possibly Maybe" by Björk, or at least the first two verses of it.


	13. In Which Paul Makes a Confession

I went home alone after Paul and I finished our homework. He would be up all night running patrols with the pack. I didn't even want to consider how awkward that would be for him.

Once I got to my house, I went straight to bed. Freed from the need to protect Paul's feelings, I sobbed for an hour, checking in spite of myself to see if I had missed any calls from Jake.

I hadn't.

Finally, I fell asleep, but I dreamed about Jacob all night—weird dreams, weird because they were so _normal._ They were recaps of all the best parts of our friendship, the parts that had saved my mind before Paul saved my heart. Our dream-selves hung out in the garage and drank warm soda and watched Quil and Embry goof off. We rode the bikes together. We watched movies in his living room and ate popcorn. I did my homework and handed him the right screwdriver when he asked.

Then the dreams changed and went into territory I'd never actually visited. We wrestled until we ended up on the floor, staring into each other's eyes for just a second too long. I ducked out from underneath his arm, time after time, day after day, until the time and day when he wouldn't allow it and held me and kissed me until my toes curled. In the dream, the strange physical aversion from the imprint didn't exist. In the dream, the _imprint_ didn't exist, and I was with Jacob, and Paul wasn't there.

And then I woke up, and the first word out of my mouth was "Paul . . ." as I rolled over, searching blindly for him with one hand. I sighed, and pressed my aching head into the sheets. Time to come back to the real world again.

I moved through school and work like a sleepwalker, barely able to respond to the people around me because I was so distracted by worry for Paul and guilt about Jake. When I clocked out at Newton's, I got to my truck and turned my phone back on—Mike's mom had a strict "no phones even on silent on the sales floor" policy—to find a new text waiting. My heart pounded while I waited a second for it to display, but then it said it was from Paul. Hm. He must have entered his number into my contacts when I wasn't looking. We'd never spoken on the phone.

 _When's ur dad hm?_ he wanted to know. __

Ugh. I hated text speak. I was always sure I was using it wrong. I messaged back, _Eight. Why?_

A minute passed, then, _Got 2 MIRL._

It took me a second to decipher that, but then I started gasping for air. Meet him in real life? Tonight? I frantically typed back, _Tonight?_

_Yes, 2nite. B4TSHTF even worse._

That didn't require any effort to translate. I could practically hear him saying it. Oh crap. Oh crap. This was all becoming way _too_ real. It had to happen, I just hadn't expected it to happen this _soon._ I should have known better. Paul always went head-on at any obstacle or challenge. I clutched at my phone, trying to come up with a response that would dissuade him without making him feel like I thought he wasn't good enough to meet my dad.

 _I need you to not meet him?_ No, too manipulative, and probably not true. __

 _He'll kill you?_ Werewolf healing capabilities would disprove that theory. __

 _But then everyone I care about will see I'm not hung up on Edward anymore. They'll know I betrayed him. No, betrayed_ myself _and my own heartbreak._

_Because if I'm able to get better, then maybe it never meant that much to begin with?_

_Maybe it was just dazzling, sparkling . . . hypnotizing, fleeting . . . brainwashing, deceptive?_

No. Not that. But still nothing like this. When Edward left, my mind fell apart. If Paul left, my whole self wouldn't stand a chance. It would be so terrifying to realize that, if I didn't also realize he was just as dependent on me.

With trembling fingers, I typed, _Okay. Can you come over earlier? I'll cook._

I hit "send," and looked at the words in disbelief as they popped up on the conversation display. That wasn't the other-me who had said that; it was real-me.

My phone chimed. _C U soon._

I started the truck and started driving home. I was halfway there before I noticed I had a smile on my face. It disappeared when I pulled my phone back out to call Charlie and tell him about our visitor.

  


( * * * )

  


Paul met Charlie. It was okay.

It wasn't really okay. I felt like I was about to pass out the entire time, lightheaded and shaky on my legs as I carefully set my dad's plate in front of him, and Charlie conspicuously unbuttoning his gun holster before sitting down at the table to grill my . . . my . . . Oh God. What the hell _was_ Paul to me?

The conversation seemed to take forever. Paul called Charlie "sir," which made me want to burst into hysterical giggles every time I heard it.

"So, Paul, how's school going?"

"Pretty well, sir." Paul was completely expressionless again, but not unfriendly, as he continued eating his third serving of Cuban pork. "I made the honor roll again, the past nine weeks."

"Get in any fights lately?" Charlie had this thing he did, where he didn't actually look at the person he was talking to but instead took quick glances at them out of the corner of his eyes while he pretended to be absorbed in another activity. I realized that must be why I didn't mind when Paul did the same thing to me.

"I haven't been in a fight since last August, Chief."

 _Except when I was in werewolf form, and then it didn't count,_ I mentally added. __

"Bells told me you've really turned your life around," Charlie grunted, digging into his mashed potatoes.

"I think I just needed some focus," Paul replied, with one quick, ironic glance to me. I couldn't tell if it was because of what he was saying or because of what I'd told my dad.

I was shoveling in food too. I still hadn't gained much weight, despite eating literally twice as much as I had before imprinting. Something must have changed with my metabolism when I heated up. My ribs were starting to stand out less than they had, though. I really didn't care one way or another, but I knew that would make both the men in my life happy.

Until yesterday, that would have been "all three of the men in my life."

"If you hurt her, I'll come looking for you, and it won't be pretty," Charlie said finally, getting up to put his plate in the sink. "She's suffered enough."

"Dad!" I gasped. My fork fell to my plate with a clatter as I slapped my hands over my face.

I heard Paul trying not to laugh as he answered, "I'll never hurt Isabella on purpose, sir."

"Guess that's all I can ask." Charlie shrugged, and headed into the living room to watch ESPN.

"That went as well as I could've expected," I murmured to Paul, picking up my fork again.

He just nodded, and went back for fourths.

Paul left around nine and came back through my window around ten-thirty, after running home to see his mother. I was already on my way to being asleep, worn out by all the emotional junk from my . . . break-up? . . . with Jacob and my dad's interrogation of Paul. When he crawled into bed with me, shoving the covers out of the way, I rolled over on top of him and stayed there. After a minute, I realized he was holding himself awake.

"What's up?" I asked drowsily, patting his shoulder.

"Nothing, buddy." He rubbed my back with one hand.

"That's not true. Usually you're either asleep or having sex with me by this point." I bit my lip as a new thought occurred to me. "How awful was it at the rez today?"

"Pretty fucking bad."

I waited, but that was all he seemed to want to say. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Fuck, no. I just want to forget it."

"I'm sorry. I wish it didn't have to be this way." No, that was letting myself off the hook too easily. I added, "Actually, I wish I would have handled it better. I maybe could have made it less bad for you."

"It's not your fault. All you wanted to do was jump off a goddamn cliff." He threaded his fingers through my hair, drawing them through to the ends until the strands feathered away from his touch, over and over again.

I giggled. "And all you wanted to do was keep me safe for Jake." The name hurt to say. I sighed at the stab of pain.

"That's not all I wanted."

I lifted my head to look at him. He stared at the ceiling, but I could tell that every bit of his attention was on me, waiting for my reaction. After a moment, I asked, "What else did you want?"

He remained silent for so long that I lay my head back down, listening to his breathing and heartbeat. Finally, his voice rumbled through his chest against my ear, as if the words he said bypassed his mouth altogether and went straight from his heart into mine. "I've been thinking and thinking about what you asked me, that day I told you I'd imprinted on you. If I could be sure whether I'd like you without the imprint? I think you need to know the answer. And, I _wanted_ you. I never looked at you because I knew I couldn't have you, and you were Jacob's girl, so what was the point? But I would see you . . . in Jacob's head, sometimes Quil's or Embry's. . . and you were fucking amazing. Smart and cute and funny, and yeah, you were fucked up, but so am I, so who gave a rat's ass? It pissed me off that Jacob got to you first, that you'd never look at me even if he hadn't because I wasn't worth it. What pissed me off the most was that you were still hurting over that motherfucking leech and Jacob was waiting, planning, when _anybody_ could see that waiting was going to end up killing you, because you needed something big to shake you out of it before you hurt yourself bad."

 _Not anybody,_ I wanted to say. _You might have been the only one who saw it._ But I stayed quiet, listening. __

"So I'm pretty sure I did want you. I remember the thoughts I had, not just how I feel _now_ when I remember you _then_. I mean, I didn't _like_ you because you pissed me off, but the only reason you pissed me off was because I knew you'd never be my girl." His tone changed, got a little more despondent. "And now you are, whether you like it or not, and I can't decide if it's better or worse. I was so fucking happy that day on the cliff—it looked like you were shining, when I imprinted, you were so beautiful—before I started thinking it through, and it all turned to shit." He started talking faster, faster than I'd ever heard him speak. I sensed the frantic buildup of guilt and shame and fear behind his words. "I _feel_ like shit for what I did to you, and to Jacob, and to your friendship. I feel like shit that you don't get a choice except me. I didn't even _want_ to fight it—I tried though—but maybe if I'd wanted to bad enough—"

"Paul," I said, raising my head again to stop the flood of self-recrimination. "Paul, no." I crawled up until my hands were on either side of his head and I could look into his face. "Listen to me. Are you listening?" He nodded. "Number one, you fought it really hard. Okay? If you would have stayed away longer I think you might have done us both permanent damage, and no matter how pissed off Jake is I don't think he'd ever want that." I kissed his jaw, next to his ear, and worked my way down to his chin, then looked him in the eye again. "Number two, and this is really important: I don't want the choice anymore. I've got you now, and I'm so, so happy I do."

He jerked a little under me, inhaling sharply through his nose. I smiled to see his reaction. "You know I can't lie to you, right?" Paul nodded again. I kissed his cheeks and the tip of his nose the way he always did to me. "You're so smart and interesting and funny, and you take such good care of me. You're an unbelievably hard worker, and you've done so much to make your life mean something even though you had just about everything working against you. I seriously can't believe I ever lived without you." I thought of something else and added, "Also, you're a sex god."

He snorted, but the sardonic look on his face didn't fool me. I could feel the spiraling excitement and elation spinning through him and into me through the imprint. And of course, being Paul, that all got funneled into him being super turned on. I had one more thing I had to say before I addressed that, though. "Number three: I told you before. If it weren't for you, I'd be dead. I _know_ I'd be dead. There would have been no Jake-and-Bells anyway, because there'd be no _me._ Okay? If it comes down to me dying, or me having this choice taken away from me . . . " I hesitated, because I knew this was a sick thing to say. It was true, though, and if anyone knew how messed up I was it was Paul, so I just said it. "It's probably better that I had the choice taken away. I don't think I was very good at making those sorts of choices. At least, this way, my heart's still beating."

He stared up at me for a moment, and then started laughing incredulously, shaking his head at me. "You realize how fucked up that is, Isabella?"

"Oh yeah, I realize it," I said, and started laughing a little myself. "Good thing you already knew that."

"Good thing I don't care," he corrected, and pulled my head down to kiss me, mouth opening under mine.

I kissed him back, tugging at his shorts while I did. "I thought I told you not to wear these anymore when you came to see me," I chastised, unbuttoning and unzipping them.

"I didn't think it was a rule," he answered, lifting his hips to allow me to slide the cutoffs down.

I straddled him and crossed my arms on his chest, resting my chin upon them. "Oh yeah. It's a rule. No visiting your Isabella unless you're ready to get naked within the first fifteen minutes. You see how I was already naked? You should take your cue from that."

"I _love_ having you be my Isabella," he told me, reaching to caress my hair back from my face.

I scooted up to kiss his chin. "I love having you be my Paul, too, so that works out well. I'm pretty sure that you should always be mine. And I'll never leave you, and you'll never leave me. And I'll take care of you, and you'll take care of me, like, forever. Does that sound okay?"

He smiled. When he spoke, his voice had gone thick with emotion. "It sounds pretty fucking amazing."

It wasn't like him to let me see, or hear, his feelings this much. It must have been a _really_ awful day at the rez. I pressed my lips against the hard line of his jaw, then moved down his neck, trying to comfort through the contact. "To—me—too," I replied between kisses. "It sounds— _so_ good." I slid off him on to my back, and he followed the motion, rolling on top of me and kissing me gently.

"Isabella, you're so goddamn beautiful," he murmured against my lips. His hands moved up my body to caress my breasts.

"Seriously, Paul, you're so gorgeous," I whispered. "Come here. I want you inside me. I just want to hold onto you, okay?"

"Okay." He angled up a little to enter me, sliding in so, so slowly.

I hummed with pleasure and wrapped my arms and legs around him, drawing him into me fully. I couldn't see his face in this position, but I was pressed to his heart and that was good too, because it had already told me everything I needed to know. "There. That's perfect. _That's_ where you belong."

"Yeah." He cradled me in his arms as he moved over and inside me. "It is."

I kissed his chest, held him close and loved him, even though I couldn't say the words. As he whispered my name, over and over again, and held me against him, I knew he felt the same.

  


( * * * )

  


Before Paul left, he covered me in six blankets. I laughed at him, but he insisted, so I waited until he leaped out before taking off three of them. Worn out by emotion and sex, I almost passed out, until I heard a noise outside the window, and then a soft thump. For one second, I thought it was Paul returning. After that, I realized I felt no heat in my back, and my heart froze in my chest. Fighting a stupid urge to just hide from my fate under the blankets, I instead stood. If I was going to die anyway, maybe I could distract her away from Charlie.

Jacob vaulted through the window.

"Jake!" I shrieked, and then cringed when I remembered Charlie. More quietly, I continued, "What the hell are you doing? I thought you were Victoria! That's the second time you've done that, you jerk!"

"I wanted to talk to you in person," he answered. He crossed his arms and leveled an angry stare at me. "Since it seems like that's not something you're interested in, I decided to come to you."

Oh, God, and now he could smell everything Paul and I had done together. Damn werewolves. "I thought you'd just avoid me," I admitted, hugging myself for something to do with my arms.

"No, Bella, that's the way you handle your life," he snapped. His eyebrows drew into a single line on his forehead. "I want to know. Is this something you wanted? Is this something you _liked_?"

"No!" I exclaimed, rushing across the room to him. He looked down his nose at me, and I shrank back a little from the disdain I saw. Anger came to my rescue. I straightened up and demanded, "Why do you think Paul ran to Canada? He was trying to fight it! He wanted you to have me—he tried. We both tried, okay? Ask him to show you! It's not like I woke up that morning and thought, 'Gee, what can I do with myself today? I know! I'll try to cliff dive alone, get saved by Paul before I can kill myself, and get him to imprint on me! Great plan! Way to go, Bella!'"

"No, I guess you just had him imprint on you and then thought, 'Gee, how can I handle this situation? Oh, I know, I'll hide it from the guy I call my _best friend,_ let him keep on making an idiot of himself over me, torture the guy who imprinted on me, and let everyone find out in the most embarrassing way I can think of! Way to go, Bella!'" He sneered, but I could see tears pooling in his eyes, and it made me feel like the worst person in the world. "He _did_ show me. I don't even blame him. I just feel sorry for him. I can't believe _you_ didn't tell me. And all this time, I thought I was losing my mind. I couldn't figure out—"

I waited, but he wasn't going to continue, so I prompted, "Couldn't figure out what?"

"I couldn't figure out why I didn't _want_ you anymore," he whispered, dropping his arms and stepping closer. "When I kissed you, it was supposed to be the greatest moment of my life, and instead I didn't . . . It was like—nothing changed, but everything was _different._ And I wanted the old way back. I wanted _you_ back. So I kept trying. I wanted to—when I touched you, I used to—" He swallowed. One long finger reached out to draw a line from my ear all the way down my neck, to my shoulder. I restrained the urge to push his hand away. "And now it's gone," he finished miserably. "It's like I'm touching Rachel or Rebecca, and I can't wish I had it back anymore. It feels wrong to wish it, even."

"But doesn't it make things easier?" I pleaded, searching for something positive for him in all of this. "I mean, we never have to worry about messing up our friendship now. We can just be brother and sister and never worry about having _dating_ or stupid boy-girl stuff screw us up, right?"

"It shouldn't be able to take those kinds of choices away from me," he growled, hands trembling as they clenched into fists. "I don't want it to have that sort of power. Isn't it bad enough that I already turn into a damn wolf?"

"Jake." I impatiently swiped a tear from my cheek. I couldn't find the right words to fix it, so instead I offered, "I'm so, so sorry. Sorry I didn't tell you, sorry that it changed things between us, sorry that you found out this way, sorry that you've been confused . . ."

He heard what I didn't say. He always had. "But not sorry Paul imprinted on you."

I wanted to deny it, but instead I slowly shook my head. No. "I can't be sorry about that. I love him."

"No, you don't!" he argued, and twin tears spilled out of his eyes, running down his cheeks and bruising my heart. "There's no fucking way you can love him, Bella! Don't you get it? It's just some . . . some sort of mind tricks the imprinting plays on you! It's not _real_! You'd never choose him!"

My hands clenched into fists. "Don't talk about him that way," I growled, before I caught myself and said, "He might not have been my first or even second choice, Jake. I'll give you that. But that doesn't change the fact that he's mine now. And, I mean, now that we know imprinting isn't all that unusual, what's to say that you might not have imprinted someday and ditched me?"

"I never would have done that." Jacob shook his head, dislodging more tears with the motion.

I ached to comfort him, but I knew he wouldn't allow it. "Jake." I looked him in the eye and tried to speak as compassionately as I could. "You really couldn't have helped it."

"Goddammit." He spun around and braced himself on the windowsill, struggling for control. I watched him pull himself together, fascinated in spite of myself. He was so good at his new life. Jake didn't need any help holding his human form in the right shape, or keeping the lightning-quick werewolf temper in a firm grip, or choosing the right path for his future in spite of what his Alpha wanted—he _was_ an Alpha.

He didn't need me.

"I'm what you wanted, but I'm not what you need," I told him. "I would have broken your heart. I'm too messed up, Jake."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry if I'd rather have decided that for myself," he said bitterly, still looking out the window, but now his shoulders had slumped, and I knew I had him back. He wasn't heartbroken; he was just pissed. I could handle pissed.

I stepped up and put one hand on his arm, tugging. "Hey. Hey. Come on." He finally let me turn him around. Defeat had etched itself into his features. I couldn't stand the thought of being the reason for it. "Jake, I promise, I'll never lie to you like this again, ever. It was the worst thing I could've done to us." Slowly, giving him the chance to back away if he didn't want it, I slid my arms around his waist and leaned my head on his chest. After a moment, his arms folded around me. He sighed resignedly.

"This is really gonna take some getting used to. You know that, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Tell me about it."

He snorted, and the tightness in my chest loosened a little. "I bet it was a huge shock."

"That's the understatement of the century." I pulled away just enough to look up at him. "Are we okay, now?"

"I don't know. Give me a day. Shit." He kissed my forehead, though, and I smiled. "You know I can't stay mad at you."

"I don't always know." I put my hands on either side of his face. "Jake, I couldn't stand to lose you. Not ever. It's my biggest fear." It was. After all, _he_ could still walk away, any time he wanted.

He shook his head, not looking at me. "Bells, don't you know? Even if you told me to go, I wouldn't. Not forever. I don't think I can."

"Then I'll never say it." I hugged him again. "Not that I could."

  


( * * * )

  


I stepped out of the truck and looked at the Cullen house for the second time in a week. I was by myself this time, though. I stared at the house, barely noticing the sound of the river rushing past, too distracted by the thudding of my pulse in my ears.

If I were really smart, I would put Edward's clothes on over my own, the way the Cullens had done with my things when they were trying to lead James away from me. I didn't think I could handle it, though. Instead I just pulled the bag out of my truck and grabbed something out at random . . .

Which turned out to be the shirt he'd worn on the day we met.

How on earth could I have grabbed this without noticing? I'd been out of it, but this should have been impossible. Hastily, I shoved it back in and grabbed something else: a sweater. The one he'd worn the first time we went to his favorite meadow.

What?

I rifled through the bag, increasingly frantic. I'd chosen the things closest to hand, and then the things that looked the most familiar. As it turned out, they were all things he'd worn during pivotal moments in our relationship. That had to mean something . . . but what?

Well, he hadn't taken them with him. That had to mean something, too. I focused on breathing. I could do this. I would do this.

I picked up the first shirt and started to the house, then rubbed it on the door and porch before heading off into the woods. I knew the werewolves had set up a ring around me, although I had no idea where they were. Wherever it was, it was far enough that I couldn't feel Paul. I dutifully kept walking, following the sound of the river on my right to keep some sort of direction. As I went, I scraped the shirt against the trees until it was filthy and ripped. When it didn't seem like it could possibly hold anything else to draw Victoria, I moved on to the next item of clothing . . . and the next . . . and the next, until all of them were stained, torn and mutilated beyond recognition. I added strands of hair that I'd cleaned from my brush too. After that was done, I conscientiously returned everything to the bag and turned around. As long as I kept the river on my left, now, I should be okay.

A flare of anxiety made me stop in my tracks. I frowned, trying to understand what had caused it.

Another wave of worry and fear. I rocked back on my heels with the force of the emotion, and realized it came from Paul just as I heard the howling. That could only be bad.

As I thought through the probable implications of what I was feeling and hearing, something tore through the underbrush just to my right, making my clothes flutter with the gust of air that followed. I gasped and spun around. I didn't see anything, but I sensed something watching me.

Whatever it was—or really, I couldn't fool myself anymore, I knew it had to be Victoria—raced past me on the other side, brushing my arm with enough force to send it up over my head for a second. I cried out and clutched my elbow, which felt shattered into a million pieces. The howling drew closer. I backed up, looking everywhere I could even though I knew it was pointless. I'd never see her coming unless she wanted me to see. Edward had warned me again and again.

My back bumped against a tree, and Victoria appeared in front of me with her hand already around my throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: "Portrait of an Apology" by Jars of Clay.


	14. In Which Bella Tells the Truth

I gagged, choked, and tried desperately to draw in air as Victoria slowly raised me over her head. My hands wrapped around her wrist. The gesture was involuntary. If I'd been thinking rationally, I would have gone limp and hoped for a quicker death. My body wasn't so resigned. It writhed and flailed in her grip like a butterfly stuck on a pin.

"Stupid human," she sneered in a disconcertingly high-pitched, breathy voice. "You should have known he'd abandon you. Don't worry, I'll put you out of your misery."

Come to think of it, maybe I shouldn't have hoped for her to end it quickly. Maybe all I had to do was distract her for a moment. I could sense Paul's rapid approach. Thinking of him gave me the strength to draw on the smartass side of myself I only revealed when we were together. "I'm not that miserable, actually," I managed to wheeze. "Don't go to any special effort on my account."

A ripple of uncertainty crossed the porcelain features. "Don't be ridiculous. Without your mate you must be longing for death."

"Are you?" I asked. "I wouldn't blame you—" Her grip tightened, and I sucked in some more air until I could whisper, "—for deciding to move on, I mean, that ponytail was something else, it's got to suck to be with someone who can't cut his hair to keep up with current styles—"

Victoria cocked her head and smiled—

I smiled back as my back flared with sudden, blazing heat—

And Paul burst out from the trees and tore her leg off.

Victoria shrieked with pain and shock and lost her balance, tumbling sideways to the ground and loosening her grip enough for me to scramble backwards across the dirt. Snarling like a rabid—well, wolf—Paul worried the leg between his jaws, and then flung it away with a flip of his head before diving toward Victoria again. This time, though, she saw him coming and rolled away, faster than my eyes could follow. The rest of the pack tore through the underbrush, snarling and yapping so loudly that I clapped one hand over my ear.

Victoria rose up on her remaining leg, like a bizarre broken toy, and hissed at them before leaping over their heads and clinging to a nearby tree trunk. The wolves flung themselves at the tree, trying to jump high enough, or bite hard enough, to yank her back down, but she pulled herself up, arm over arm,past the reach of their fangs. Sam and Jacob started ramming the tree with their shoulders; it shook but held upright long enough for Victoria to balance on one branch and propel herself to the next tree.

She paused, hanging onto an overhead branch for balance, and looked back at me over her shoulder. "I'll be—"

She never finished the sentence.

A streak of white and black floated over my head and landed on the same branch upon which Victoria stood. I barely had time to understand what it was—and then I didn't believe what my mind told me—before they crashed together with the familiar sound of two boulders striking. _Baseball,_ I thought, watching the blur of flying, delicate-looking arms and darting bodies as they twisted and turned and struck at each other high above me. _It's all a game to them._

The pack regrouped around me, facing outward in a circle with me in the center. Paul turned around and nosed at my body, whining when he came to my broken elbow. I patted him absently with my free hand, never looking away from the hissing combatants overhead.

The trees swayed and groaned under the assault.

Victoria let out one last unearthly scream, and then I heard a thud and looked down at my feet to see her head resting between them. Just her head.

 _Oh look,_ my mind observed with unnatural calm. _Paul was telling the truth. There's no blood._ That didn't make me feel better. Unable to repress a scream, I scuttled back, away from the still-snapping teeth, and whipped my own head back up. __

Alice dropped Victoria's body like it was an empty trash bag—it landed with another thud, ripping off some branches as it fell—and said, "Isabella Marie Swan, what in heaven's name have you gotten yourself into now?"

This wasn't happening. I wasn't here. I concentrated on trying to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged.

Paul yapped, his hackles raising straight up off his back.

Okay, maybe this was happening. "Alice," I choked out. "Alice, what—" Paul tensed, ready to spring; I buried my fingers in his ruff to hold him back.

"Are your . . . _pets_ going to kill me if I come down?" she asked, surveying the pack with her lip curled.

The wolves broke into renewed howls at that, snarling and yelping. Jake, Embry, and Quil darted out of formation and toward the tree in which Alice balanced, before Sam growled, clearly ordering them back in place.

"Don't," I whispered, but I couldn't be sure if I asked Alice or them for a reprieve.

"You disappeared," Alice accused, gracefully descending a few levels of branches and stopping just out of the wolves' reach. "I couldn't see you anymore! There were these weird gaps in my visions and I was terrified. Once, I thought I saw you about to kill yourself! And then you disappeared again. I was _beside myself_ until you reappeared a few minutes later _._ Bella, what—"

"You _saw_ me?" I interrupted. I heard the hysteria in my voice but I couldn't make myself care. "I thought he told you to make a clean break!"

She waved one hand dismissively. "Oh please. Edward's my brother, not my guardian. I saw Victoria holding you up against that tree, and then you disappeared again, so I flew down to try to stop it . . . But maybe it was . . . " She frowned at the wolves, and then the look of disgust took over her entire face. "Ugh. It was these _mutts_! They're interfering with my visions."

"Don't call them that," I said faintly. My legs were carrying me forward to her without me really meaning to go. Paul stalked behind me, a low, constant growl rumbling in his chest.

"We can't talk here," Alice said, eyeballing him. "I'll meet you back at your house."

I nodded. "Okay." Paul whipped his head around to look at me incredulously, muzzle curling into a snarl. His shock and fury smacked into me with so much force that I almost gasped. "It'll be okay," I tried to reassure him, but he nudged me with his head, hard, and I had to grab him to keep my balance. "I have to talk to her, Paul."

He whipped his head away from my grasp and bounded back to his brothers and sister; I could practically hear him saying, _Fine. Risk your fucking life. Again._

I didn't think that was what I would be doing.

Alice tossed down something small and shiny; I picked it up from the ground. A lighter. "Set her on fire. She's already starting to twitch." She flew off, flinging her tiny body from tree to tree like a trapeze artist.

Sure enough, Victoria's fingers were stirring, making scrabbling motions in the dirt toward where her head lay. Paul grabbed the discarded leg, Jared gingerly lifted the head, and together they brought the pieces over to the rest of her body.

I waited until they backed away, and then I flicked the flame on and tossed it onto the corpse. Victoria ignited instantly. I took a deep breath and felt the tension drain from my shoulders and stomach, even with all the pain still throbbing through my arm. Just like that, the threat to my life was gone, drifting away in curls of heavy purple smoke.

  


( * * * )

  


Driving with one arm was really hard, but I didn't want to put off my confrontation with Alice long enough to visit the E.R. I pulled up into my driveway and stared at my front door, gripping the steering wheel and trying hard to breathe.

"Isabella," Paul said next to my open window. I yelled and started back. He winced at the noise, but continued with a scowl, "This is the most stupid fucking idea you've come up with since cliff-diving,"

I tried to speak evenly and failed. "Paul, you scared the crap out of me!"

"The feeling's mutual," he replied, yanking open the door and carefully pulling me into his arms.

The instant he pressed me to him, I relaxed. Being with him was so much better than being by myself. I knew that, so why had I even tried to do this alone? His heart was pounding so hard it felt like a drum against my cheek. I rubbed his back and kissed his chest. "I'm okay. I'm sorry I scared you. I was scared too."

"No shit." He pulled back to gently grasp my swollen arm. "This smelled really wrong back there. It looks awful too. I think she broke your elbow."

"It hurts," I answered, trying to smile. "But I really, really want to get this over with."

He scowled. "Fine. Fucking fine. But if you end up looking dead again, I'm going to kill that bitch myself. Fuck the treaty."

I just shook my head and reached to hold his hand. "Are you going to be able to keep from hurting her, or phasing in the house?"

"As long as you're able to stay calm, I should be able to," he answered reluctantly.

Together, we walked into the house. Alice waited on the couch, but she leaped up the second I entered. "Bella!" She pulled me into an embrace

I dropped Paul's hand to wrap my good arm around her, inhaling that magical vampire scent. Tears stung my eyes as memories flooded me. "Alice. I missed you so much."

Paul growled and walked over to the kitchen, as far away as he could get without losing sight of us. Alice darted a glance at him, then returned her attention to me. "Bella, I can't stay long."

The tears spilled over, but I nodded. "I know. I know. But I wish you didn't have to leave."

Alice gazed at me, her mouth curved downward. She looked like she would be crying, if she could. "This is so ridiculous. He's not even with us anymore."

I shook my head, mystified. "Why not?"

"He didn't . . . He didn't want you to know, but I think it's not fair to keep it from you." Alice bit her lip for a second, and then blurted, "He's in South America. He couldn't stand to stay with us anymore. It was too difficult after he left you."

I nodded slowly and let my arm drop to my side. "Difficult," my numb lips said. Behind Alice, I saw Paul shift and stand at attention.

Alice looked me over from head to toe. "You look well, though," she said, with an approving gleam in her eye. "Besides that arm. You should have stopped by the hospital before you came home. Here, let me . . ." She wrapped her icy hands around my elbow. Almost immediately, the pain lessened.

"I'll go to the E.R. soon," I answered, walking to the couch with her and easing myself down. She scooted close, keeping her hands in place. "How is everyone? Do they know you're here?"

"Jasper does. The others think I'm visiting Biloxi again. I'm trying to make contact—you didn't know this, but I found out I have a niece who's still alive there. I've been calling her, posing as a reporter who's researching—Bella, that isn't why I'm here. I've been so scared for you ever since I saw you standing on the edge of a cliff. I thought—I was almost positive you were going to jump, but I never saw you fall, so I thought I'd better check in on you . . ." She trailed off, waiting.

"I did jump," I answered, my gaze on Paul. "But with Paul. This is Paul, by the way. That's why you didn't see me. He kept me safe."

"But why would you do something so stupid?" she demanded.

I stared at my feet.

"Tell her, Isabella," Paul said, and I darted a glance in his direction before looking at my feet some more. "Tell her, or I will."

I whipped my head up to glare at him. "That's not your job."

"Tell me, Bella," Alice encouraged, and I shook my head, furrowing my eyebrows.

When Paul spoke again, his voice had lost a little of its edge. "Buddy, you keep too much to yourself. You keep too much in your head. Sometimes people deserve to be told how what they do affects you. Let me tell her if that's what you need."

That wasn't Paul talking, that was other-Paul. Imprint Paul. Well, regardless of where the words came from, he was probably right. I stared at the floor for a moment, then lifted my eyes to meet his gaze and nodded reluctantly.

"She was trying to kill herself," Paul told Alice.

I leaped to my feet—Alice floated up with me—and winced as the jarring sent new waves of agony through my elbow. " _Paul!_ I didn't mean you should put it like _that_! _"_

He balled his fists at his side and glared right back at me. "I don't give a _shit_ , Isabella. I don't need to protect her from the truth." Turning back to Alice, whose eyes had gone wide with horror, he kept going, "Your fake brother practically made her lose her mind. Understand? She wasn't even _here_ for months, just her body. She didn't eat, she didn't sleep, and when she did sleep she had bad dreams about him leaving her. When she first made it up to La Push in January she was so fucked up she could barely stand. She walked around with her arms around her chest all the time like she was trying to hold herself together."

"Paul," I gritted out between my teeth. "Shut. Up."

"Fuck that," he shot back. "I saw all that shit in Jacob's head so many times it made me want to puke. You wanna know what she was doing when she decided to jump off that cliff, leech? She was trying to get as close as she could to dying so that she could imagine she heard him talking to her. How's that for stupid? She wanted to hear the son of a bitch who left her alone in the woods, who almost let her die while she wandered around for hours—"

" _What?"_ Alice gasped, looking at me. "He did _what?_ "

"I was in sight of the house when he left," I mumbled, blushing. It sounded so dumb. "I . . . tried to follow him."

"He left you in the woods?" Alice repeated. She was so upset that she had frozen in place. Her mouth was the only thing that stirred on her face.

"When we found her, she was curled up in a ball on the ground." Paul took two more steps into the living room, shaking from head to toe. "She was freezing cold and alone and she couldn't even move."

"He left you in the woods." Alice's voice had lost all expression. She looked like a mannequin.

"Yeah, he did." Paul took another step toward us. One more. I eyed him nervously, wondering if I would be able to speak quickly enough to stop him if he started to phase. "So if he starts to sniff around her again, or decides he wants to 'check in on' _my_ imprint? You can just tell him to fuck himself with his own stone dick. You got that, sparkle cu—"

" _Paul!"_ I shrieked over the word. "Don't talk to her like that!"

And then I was bent over double, clutching my free arm to my chest. I couldn't even remember how I'd gotten that way. My lungs had completely frozen. I couldn't pull any air into them because they wouldn't move. The thought of Edward returning, combined with the drama of confronting Victoria and Alice's return, overwhelmed even the imprint's stabilizing influence on my body.

Over the thud of my pulse pounding in my ears, I made out the faraway sound of Paul swearing bitterly. His arms closed around me, lifting me off the ground and cradling me against him. I hooked my good arm around his neck and turned my face into his chest, eyes squeezed shut. After a second, his body heat relaxed my throat enough that I could inhale, and then his scent did the rest. My breathing stabilized and my heartbeat slowed to a decent level. I relaxed into his embrace.

His hands still trembled against my body, so I kept my face pressed against his skin and moved my hand to the back of his head, stroking his hair. "It's okay," I murmured to him. "It's okay, Paul. I'm all right. You've got me now. You always take such good care of me."

After a few more whispered reassurances, his chest heaved in a deep sigh and the tension mostly left his muscles. I turned my head to look at Alice, whose face was still solidified with worry, but before I could say anything Paul spoke. "See this? This is what happens when she even _thinks_ about him, or about how he hurt her. Do you see why it'd be the worst fucking thing possible for her to have him come back?"

Alice's eyes had gone blank, searching across a screen no one could watch but her. I knew that look. She was looking into the future, trying out different options and weighing possible decisions. "If he—no, that wouldn't—but if I tell him—that seems to be the key—to know you're happy without him—I could find him, be honest, and he'd know—and stay—"

"What?" I asked. God, she was hard to track sometimes.

Alice shook her head and didn't answer me. Instead, she asked, "What's an imprint?" She looked from Paul to me and back again. "What does he mean, 'his imprint?'"

I opened my mouth and found myself at a loss for words. "It's—" I looked up to Paul for help. "What _is_ it?"

"It means I'm hers," he told Alice, like, _simple as that,_ and I couldn't stop the big mushy smile I felt spreading across my face, even with all the pain in my arm and my heart. If I hadn't had an audience and a broken elbow, I might have started making out with him right there out of sheer elation from the certainty he offered me. " _I_ can't leave her, even if I wanted to. Which I don't," he added to me.

"It's a werewolf thing," I explained, leaning my head against his chest again.

Alice nodded slowly. "You're mated. To a werewolf." Her voice sounded even more faraway than it had before.

 _God_ my arm hurt. Glancing down, I saw that my elbow had swollen to softball size even with Alice's gentle touch. I managed to say, "Yeah, I guess I am." __

"We have to get you to the E.R., buddy," Paul said, gently setting me down on my feet. "Are you done here?"

I looked at Alice. My chin started to wobble. "I guess so."

She didn't look like she was any happier. "I do—I should go back . . ." Finally, she gave a sharp nod, as if she'd arrived at some sort of decision, and pulled out her phone, dialing so quickly that I couldn't see her fingers move.

My phone rang in my pocket.

Alice hung up her phone before I could reach for mine. "That's my new number, and I won't be changing it. Will you . . ." She hesitated. "Will you mind if I call you, sometimes? I think I have a lot of explaining to do."

"I'd really, really like that," I squeaked out past the emotion knotting my throat. Paul twitched and made an angry noise in his throat, but I guess he could tell that I needed Alice, because he didn't say anything. Stepping out from underneath his arm, I hugged Alice again. "Talk to you later, okay?"

"All right. Bella . . ." She trailed off. I raised my eyebrows in query. "Be safe."

"She will be," Paul said, and, gently grasping my good arm, led me out the door, away from her.

  


( * * * )

  


"You're lucky, Bella." Dr. Gerandy looked away from the X-rays and gave me a reassuring smile. "It's a fairly minor break. Once we set the bone and splint it, just keep it elevated and take the painkillers I'm going to prescribe for you."

I nodded wearily, leaning into Paul. He sat next to me on the Emergency Room bed, his arm around my shoulders.

Dr. Gerandy gave Paul a sideways glance. "And . . . how did you say you got this injury?"

I sighed. It was the fifth time I'd told the story. They probably worried Paul had been the one to deal out the broken elbow—an unfortunate side effect, probably, of being big and brown with an easily misunderstood blankness of expression.

"I tripped and fell while I was hiking," I recited again. "It's not the first time."

Dr. Gerandy was well-versed in my anti-affinity for the forest, but he scrolled through the pages of my chart on his laptop anyway, a deep frown on his face as he tried not to stare at Paul. "Yes. Hm. Well. Nurse Clayton will be in in just a moment."

Nurse Clayton came in thirty minutes later, which I guessed counted as "just a moment" in Emergency Room terms. She pulled a bottle and a really long needle out and filled the syringe with the bottle's contents.

"We'll just start out by giving you a shot to keep infection from setting in as the bone heals," she told me, giving Paul a suspicious look.

"Okay," I replied, when really what I wanted to say was _Oh for Pete's sake, stop wondering if my Paul could hurt me; it's ludicrous._ She held my arm and jabbed the needle in. I hadn't expected it to hurt quite so badly, and couldn't hold back a cry of pain—it felt as if she had stabbed the bone itself.

Paul leaped to his feet the second I made the noise. "What the fuck was _that?"_ he demanded of the nurse.

"Paul, don't—" I started.

He breathed hard, fists clenched. "You couldn't do that without making her scream?"

"I didn't _scream_ ," I contradicted, at the same time as poor Nurse Clayton stammered, "I-I'm sorry, I was careful as I could be."

"Fuck that! Careful my ass!" Paul spun around and grabbed the curtains that separated my bed from the view of the rest of the room.

I sat up straighter and spoke quickly, before he could rip the fabric off its rings. "No, Paul! I need you to be with me, and they'll kick you out if you start tearing stuff up!"

Nurse Clayton edged away, keeping a wary eye on Paul. He huffed out a sigh as he turned back around and came to sit next to me on the bed again. "Right. Sorry."

I climbed onto his lap when he put his arm around me again. "Yeah. Can't have you leaving me."

"No." He kissed the top of my head. I kissed his still-bare chest. Good thing the hospital didn't have rules about shirts.

On our way out, Paul stopped just before we walked through the front door. "Wait. We didn't get your script filled."

It took me a second to translate that. "Oh. That prescription for painkillers? I don't want it. I'll just take Tylenol or whatever. If I _have_ to."

"Don't be fucking ridiculous," he said in a flat voice. "My arm hurts so bad it's making me want to throw something, and it's because of you." He headed toward another hallway. "C'mon, they have a pharmacy in the building."

I shrugged a little and didn't move to follow him. "I don't like taking medicine."

He turned around and gave me a level stare. "Isabella, you're being a dumbass. I'm getting the script filled with or without you. And then you're gonna take the goddamn pills. There's no way I'm gonna let you sit there in fucking agony when there's something we can do about it!" His voice steadily rose as he spoke until he almost shouted.

I wanted to scream back—I was too tired and in too much pain to be entirely rational—but then I heard what he'd said: _my arm hurts so bad._ If I didn't take the pills I'd be causing him discomfort too. I didn't want that. I gave in with ill grace. "Fine. Lead the way."

We got the pills, and he made me take one before he drove me home. Once we got up to my bedroom, and I was lying down on my back in a narcotic haze, arm propped up on two pillows, Paul sat next to me, brushing my hair back from my neck. "These bruises are going to be tough to explain. It looks like someone had you by the throat, and people are gonna think it was me."

I raised my fingers to trace along my throat. "It doesn't hurt. I feel soooo good."

He chuckled and bent to kiss my temple. "I bet you do. Vicodin's pretty good shit." He would have sat back up, but I laced my fingers in his hair and held him down—or, he let me hold him down.

"Kiss me there," I said dreamily. Obediently, he pressed a kiss right where his lips were, on my cheekbone. "No, not there. On my neck. You always kiss my owies."

He breathed out a laugh against my skin and moved down to my neck, hot lips pressed so, so gently to each of the marks Victoria had left behind. I sighed and shivered at the caress.

"Now lick them."

He laughed out loud at that. _"What?"_

"I want you to lick them. Please?" I stroked the hair on the back of his head; he still hadn't raised it to look at me.

"You are so fucked up right now," he muttered, but his tongue dragged across the bruises. One stroke. Two. Three. Four. A fifth, on the other side, where her thumb had dug. Arousal flowed like lava from the ache, pulsing through my veins all the way down to my fingertips and toes.

I hummed with pleasure as he went back to do it all over again. "Oh, _yes_. Please don't stop?"

Now _he_ sighed. I craned my neck to look at him—was he sick of me? Paul lifted his face and met my gaze. I relaxed and smiled at the look I saw there: mingled amusement and affection.

"Is this your plan?" he wanted to know. "Make it look like it was my mouth that did this to your neck instead of a leech's hand? I don't know if your dad'll be any happier about that."

"I wouldn't call it a _plan_ exactly . . ." I hissed a little as he worked his teeth down on the side where her thumb had pressed. He carefully fastened his teeth to the skin over the bruise and sucked, making me whimper and clutch at his head. My body started moving restlessly, pressing up against him. After he did the same thing to each bruise, though, he stopped.

"There's no way I'm fucking you when you're all doped up, after coming off a fight with a vampire and with a barely set broken elbow. Even I'm not that much of a bastard."

I pouted at him a little. "Fine. Come here anyway." Obediently, he slid down a little bit and laid his head on my chest, wrapping his arm around my hips. I ran my fingernails up and down up and down his back.

"Jacob showed me—what you said. Last night."

The words were so quiet I had to strain to hear them. "Oh yeah?" I said lazily. "Why'd he do that?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes it's easier. Easier than talking about every damn thing—just show what happened." He scooted down a little more and pushed my shirt up, just enough to expose my waist above my jeans. He kissed my hipbone and nuzzled my belly.

"That makes sense." I ran my fingers through his hair. It'd be nice not to have to talk about things because the people who needed to know could just read your mind. No, maybe not. They'd know all the stuff you didn't want to talk about too.

His thumb moved over my waist. "Did you mean it? What you said?"

"Of course I did. I wasn't going to lie to him—" I finally remembered. "Oh. _Oh."_ _I can't be sorry about that. I love him._ Funny that it was so much easier to admit to Jake than to Paul. After a moment, I said slowly, "Yeah. I meant it. I . . . I do."

He carefully rolled up, and on top of me, looking into my face. I bit my lip when I saw his expression. His hard-edged features had never looked so vulnerable before. "Do you think you can say it to me?"

The request hurt. It hurt that he had to ask it, that I hadn't thought to offer, that I wasn't sure I could. It hurt to know I had so much power to inflict pain on him, and that I might inflict it thoughtlessly.

He waited, silent and patient as ever, watching me.

I honestly didn't know if I'd be able to do it until I heard the words come out of my mouth. "I love you, Paul."

 _Was that you?_ I asked the other-me, but she was silent. She didn't love Paul, she just owned him. The love was all me. __

Holding my breath, I looked at Paul and waited. _Please don't say it, please don't say it._ I knew how he felt. I didn't need to hear "I love you." It sounded way too much like "I'll leave you."

He didn't say it, of course, so I smiled at him, and tugged his mouth down to mine. When he lifted his head again, he looked serious. "Thanks. I know you didn't want to say it, so . . . Thanks."

"I meant it." I shrugged a little, leaning up to kiss his chin. "If you need to hear it, then I need to say it. I mean, I don't _have_ to, but I want to. You're _my_ Paul, but I'm _your_ Isabella. Okay?" I knew I couldn't give him the reassurance he offered me so regularly. I couldn't claim to be _all_ his. Not yet. There were too many pieces of me fragmented and lodged in other hearts. So I put what I had on the table. "I'm only ever Isabella for _you_." I waited to see if that would be enough for him.

"That's the only you I want," Paul replied, and he smiled when he said it.

The room spun around him, dislodged from its usual gravity by the drugs I'd taken. He was the only stable thing in front of me, but he was enough. I raised my hand to caress his cheek, feeling the other-me and the Bella-me and the Bells-me move and turn and reorganize inside at his words, clicking with the Isabella-me to form something new. Something that maybe really was all his. This was the reassurance I _could_ offer, so I said it out loud: "Then that's the only me I want to be," and pulled him into my embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: "Everybody" by Ingrid Michaelson.


	15. Epilogue: In Which Paul and Bella Take the Leap

"It's a beach wedding, Isabella, not a goddamn senior prom."

"I _know_ that." I pushed Paul back a little so I had room to fuss with my hair. "I just have to look perfect, that's all." I twisted to look at myself in my bedroom mirror. "Does this dress make my boobs look smaller than they already are?"

Paul put his hands over my breasts and lowered his lips to my neck. "Nope," he said against my skin. "They look perfect. You're done."

I rolled my eyes and moved his hands away from the sky-blue bodice. He didn't let go entirely, just slid them down to my hips. "Come on, Paul, this is Amanda's big day. I don't want to be the one who screws up the wedding pictures for her—it's her only chance to get it right."

Paul met my gaze in the mirror and smirked. "That's what Jacob hopes, anyway. Things are always dicey without an imprint. Fifty percent divorce rate, and that's minimum."

I laughed because I knew he didn't mean it, turning away to pick up my sandals. "Yeah, right. Like any woman in her right mind would ever dump Jacob." He breathed out a laugh, and I grimaced. "I mean—you know what I—"

"Yeah." He sat down next to me on the bed. "I know. It's fine. You're never going to be able to strap those on. Let me do it." Obediently, I gave him the sandals. They were the kind that wrapped three times around the ankle and lower calf before they buckled, but at least they didn't have heels. Thank God Jacob's fiancée hadn't cared if I stood nearly half a foot below the next smallest person in the photos.

Paul's hands were nimble as ever, taking less than a minute to do what would have taken me ten. I stretched out my legs in his lap, inspecting the straps. "Thanks."

"So have you thought about it?" He looked at my straps, too, but I wasn't fooled. Every speck of his attention was directed my way.

I sighed and pulled my legs back, folding them under my chin and hugging them. "Yeah . . . I've thought about it. I still don't know, though." His eyebrows drew together over his nose as he stared at his knees. I said defensively, "You're the one who just quoted divorce statistics to me!"

"We don't have to worry about that," he reminded me. "And we're going to be graduating in just another nine months. After that, who knows where we'll be accepted for grad school? Wouldn't it be easier to go ahead and get married while we're still near all our friends and family? That way our friends from school will still be around too." He drummed his fist on the bed, but he wasn't angry, just thinking. Psychology majors were required to go to counseling at least once a week, which had helped on that front, and Paul had learned a little anger management since we were in high school on his own anyway. Plus I could always help through the imprint.

"Paul . . ." I inched closer, but I should have known better. As soon as I got within six inches of him I always wanted to be _on_ him. Since sex wasn't an option ten minutes before we had to leave for First Beach, I settled for sitting on his lap, carefully tilting my head against his chest so I didn't mess up my hair. He held me to him. "It's just paper and metal. I love you, and I'll always be your Isabella. Why do we need to tell the government about it?"

"It's not just paper and metal," he disagreed, and now I could tell he _was_ starting to get mad. "It's not just telling the government, either."

"Then what is it?" I leaned back a little to meet his gaze. "What is it to you?"

"It's . . ." He trailed off and shrugged, so I knew this was important to him. Whenever it was important, he had a hard time talking about it, counseling or not. After struggling with himself for a minute, he finally managed to say, "It's just a chance to do better, that's all. A chance to prove that just because our parents didn't do it right doesn't mean we can't."

"Well, that's pretty much true. I mean, there's hardly any way we could do _worse,_ " I said with a giggle.

"That's the fucking truth," he agreed.

"Well, I'll keep thinking about it." I leaned up to kiss his jaw. "If I agree, I don't want an engagement ring, so maybe we can look at wedding rings the next time we—" He twitched just a little bit. "Paul."

Paul looked away from me.

Narrowing my eyes, I stood. "Paul. You _know_ how I feel about diamonds. Tell me you didn't underwrite some African warlord's insurgency. Tell me."

"You know I wouldn't do that!" he said, whipping his head around to glare at me. "For fuck's sake, Isabella."

I raised my hands in appeasement. "Okay, okay, sorry. But you _did_ buy a ring, didn't you?" Reluctantly, he nodded. "Where did you find something that wouldn't fund that stuff? Secondhand? Not eBay or a pawn shop, for the love of God."

He rolled his eyes and said in exasperation, "Yeah. I bought an engagement ring from a fucking pawn shop because I wanted your mom to come down on me like a goddamn ton of bricks about karma or dharma or whatever the fuck. What the hell is your problem today?"

He was right; I was being a jerk. I bit my lip and fidgeted a little. "Weddings make me nervous," I said finally.

"Bullshit. You're nervous because it's _Jacob's_ wedding." He leaned back on his elbows and surveyed me from head to toe with half a smile. "Wish it was you instead of Amanda?"

I laughed. "Yeah, right. No, I just hope . . . What if he imprints? It would break Amanda's heart and he would fight it, you know he would, tooth and nail, and that would be even worse, because then he'd hate himself, and it's all going to fall apart if that happens, and then—"

"Hey, buddy." Paul got up and pulled me into an embrace, rubbing my back. "Breathe, okay? None of that is going to happen. I don't think Jacob _can_ imprint; he's the big dog, right? They can't be worried about only one person's happiness. They have to take care of the whole pack. Imprinting doesn't make sense for someone who's in his position."

I giggled, a little damply. "Yeah. Because it made _so_ much sense for us." My arms went around him, heedless of the wrinkles I was putting into my sundress and his button-down shirt.

"I think it did."

The absolute certainty in his tone made me laugh again. "Well, it doesn't matter if it _did,_ it's the only thing that would ever make sense to me now." After a second, I sighed. "Show me the ring. I know you have it."

Paul chuckled. "Yeah. Hold on a second." He let go of me and turned to rummage in his suitcase—I still couldn't believe that Charlie had actually let us share a bedroom this time. Diana was much more relaxed about the whole "Bella and Paul live together in sin in Seattle so no point making them sleep separately at home" thing. Then again, having Paul for a son had probably forced her to either be laid back or lose her mind. (And really, I had no idea where Charlie got the nerve to talk when he was over at Sue's every other night.) After a second, he presented a black jewelry box. I flipped it open and gasped in spite of myself.

The ring itself was white gold, with a center prong set diamond that had diamonds at each of its four corners and six diamonds inset into the band. I tilted it back and forth, watching it gleam. "This is so gorgeous. How on earth did you find it?"

Paul smiled a little. "A lady on Mercer Island. Her husband died after they were married for thirty-five years, and she was about to move to a retirement community in Arizona. She said he'd rather she have fun than hang onto the rock he gave her back when they were teenagers."

"I'm guessing . . . It was a _lot_ of fun?" I asked tentatively, trying not to be too pushy about it.

He laughed at me. "Quit worrying. You know if I couldn't afford it I wouldn't have bought it."

That was true. Paul was hyper-responsible with money. I watched the light shoot through the diamond's facets and split into rainbows. For a second, I was lost in recollection: a magical afternoon, a meadow, a forever-teenage boy—no. I glanced up guiltily, but Paul was watching the box.

"Do you want to try it on? It's the right size. See if you hate the way it feels."

He was trying so hard not to push me, but I could tell he was restraining himself from just shoving the damn thing on and dealing with my fury later. Slowly, I worked the ring loose from the box and slid it on.

We both stared at my hand.

"Feel like running for the hills yet?" I croaked after a moment.

"Nope. Even if I did, I'd always come back," he said, but his tone was so distant that I ripped my gaze away from the rock on my fourth finger. He was breathing hard, and his eyes were shining. "You?"

I waggled my fingers experimentally. "I don't know. It doesn't make me want to run . . . But I still don't see the point." I gave him a sly smile. "I can tell you do, though. Don't lie. This means more to you than just a chance to fix what went wrong with our parents. This is about me being _your_ Isabella, isn't it?"

His expression changed, turned sheepish. "If it is I'm not gonna admit it. You've taken too many Gender Relations courses to let me get away with that shit."

I laughed and pulled his mouth down to mine, shivering a little with the shock that always hit me when we touched. "Mmm," I hummed against his lips after a moment. "As long as I get to call you _my_ Paul, I think it's only fair for me to be _your_ Isabella. Ownership can be a two-way street."

Paul was going to answer, but his eyes went past me to the clock on the desk. "Shit. It's almost noon. You're going to be late for the pictures if we don't leave now. Go ahead and take it off. We can talk about it later."

Obediently, I tugged the ring off and put it back in the box. "Did you get Jacob's rings?"

"Right here." He waved another box at me before putting it in his pants pocket.

When we pulled up at First Beach, Jacob and Amanda were just getting out of her Maxima. Her parents pulled up right after them.

"There's my best woman!" Jake yelled, running to sweep me up in a crushing hug.

"Jake!" I scolded, smacking his arms. "You're going to mess me up before pictures! Amanda's going to kill you."

He ignored my strictures and swung me around before carefully setting me back down on the ground. "She knows I have to blow off steam somehow, Bells. I'm so damn excited I couldn't sleep last night. Where're the rings?"

"Paul's got them." I held out my hand behind me, knowing that Paul would have the box already out of his pocket. Sure enough, I instantly closed my fingers over its soft corners. "We've done our part. Now all I need to do is make sure you don't pass out." I tilted my head back, peering at the mostly clear skies. "I can't believe you picked the one Saturday this August that wasn't pouring buckets."

"It's fate," he informed me loftily.

"It's pure luck," Amanda laughed, coming up behind him and putting one hand on his elbow. "Kind of like you getting to marry me, so I guess that's appropriate."

"Hey, you've got a pretty good deal," Jake told her, pretending to scowl.

"I didn't say I'm not lucky too," she soothed, kissing his arm. Turning to me, she smiled. "Bella, you look so beautiful."

"You look amazing," I said honestly. The ivory satin of her gown shimmered against the brown of her skin, making her look like she was glowing. It left her arms bare and clung to her jealousy-inducing figure, descending to flutter around her ankles, where she wore the same sandals she'd chosen for me—in a slightly bigger size. Jacob's wife-to-be stood five inches taller than me. "You're a Makah goddess. Seriously."

"Yeah she is," Jacob agreed, pulling her into a sideways hug. "Hey, here's the photographer. And there's Sue, Charlie and Billy. About time."

"Thank _God_ Sue didn't spend the night at Charlie's place again," I whispered, smiling and waving as the three got out of Sue's car.

"I thought I was going to have to rip off my ears," Paul muttered, not bothering to smile. Jacob and Amanda snorted.

The ceremony went off without a hitch, except when it was time for the vow recital. Amanda and Jacob had written their own, and memorized them in spite of the warnings to the contrary from Billy, who had gotten his minister's credentials online so he could officiate. Amanda went first, and recited her vows as smoothly as if she were a trained actress, beginning, "Jacob, destiny brought us together, but it is my choice today to spend forever with you," and talking for five minutes straight without one stutter.

Jake, on the other hand, had completely lost it the second he saw her walking down the aisle between the folding chairs, and kept on saying, "You're so _beautiful_ ," to her, gazing into her black eyes and clutching her hands while she tried not to laugh. At last, choking on giggles, I pulled the emergency copy of his vows from my bra and shoved it into his hand. After that, it was all smooth sailing.

Amanda had arranged for a wooden dancing floor to be set up on the beach for the reception, so there was dancing—no drinking, though, since her family were teetotalers. I made the required toast with sparkling cider. That was fine with me. I had a hard enough time staying upright even stone cold sober. Charlie and Billy had brought their own supplies, like a couple of Prohibition-era scofflaws, in flasks they kept guiltily pulling out of their pockets.

I was watching them and laughing with Emily when my phone buzzed in my clutch. Pulling it out, I saw Alice's number and winced. With all the wedding excitement, I'd forgotten today was our monthly Saturday phone call date. Pressing the green button, I told her, "Hang on just a second," as I headed for the car so she could actually hear me.

Once inside, I settled back. "How are you, Alice?"

"Fine. Denali's not exactly a happening metropolis but we try to keep ourselves occupied," she said airily. "Are you back home this weekend? The gaps in my visions got more irregular on Thursday."

"Yeah, today's Jacob's wedding day and I'm his best 'man,' so . . ."

"That's right. You never told me the date! Did it give you any ideas? What colors have you decided on? Would you like me to email you some patterns for custom dresses?"

I laughed; I could practically _hear_ her bouncing. "Alice! No! Why on earth would you care about my hypothetical wedding?"

She sighed sentimentally. "Jasper and I have gotten married over a dozen times, Bella, but the first one was the most special. I wish _everyone_ could be as happy as I was that day, let alone you."

"Why was it special?" I asked, hearing the faint note of desperation in my voice but unable to banish it. "I mean, you knew you two would be together forever anyway, so why was getting married so damn important?"

Alice stayed silent for a moment, then said, "It wasn't getting married that was important. It was saying to Jasper, 'I choose you, and I'm proud of my choice.' He had such a checkered past, and sometimes he didn't feel worthy of me. Marriage was just the biggest, most obvious way to say I would always choose him."

Her words settled into my heart, bringing with them the perspective I needed.

She added, "Besides, you know I can't resist planning a party."

That made me laugh. We talked for a little while longer, but she told me she didn't want to keep me from the reception and hung up more quickly than usual.

I sat for a minute, watching Paul dance with Rachel Black in the light from the setting sun and thinking about choices. He didn't talk about it much, but I knew it still hurt him to know I would never have looked twice at him if it weren't for the imprinting. I'd tried so many times to explain that I didn't mind, but somehow it always came out sounding like I was resigned to my fate, and then he got even more hurt, which usually meant we were repairing holes in our apartment walls the next day. I'd gotten really good at applying drywall mud.

Okay. So. I had to consider this whole marriage thing logically, not with the panic a lifetime of lectures from my flighty mother had inculcated into my soul. Maybe it was a redundant, outdated remnant of the patriarchy, a legal contract symbolizing an exchange of goods, wherein the main "goods" consisted of the bride who was "given away" by her father, originally with a bunch of money as thanks for getting her off his hands. Maybe it was a sacrament from a religion that exerted no hold upon me. Maybe it was a promise too easily broken, leaving shattered relationships in its wake. Those were all valid points as far as I was concerned.

Then again, maybe it was a way to say, "I know we didn't choose to be together, but I can choose this, with you, and I do." Maybe it was a way to tell him that even though I might have been too clueless to get to know him without some supernatural help, I couldn't imagine a happy life without him now. (More importantly, I didn't even want to try.) Maybe it was the thing I could do to let Paul see that I knew him, now, and I loved everything I knew, the good and the bad.

Maybe it was my chance to commit for all the _right_ reasons. The human reasons.

I got out of the car and walked back to the reception, shivering a little as the evening wind brushed over me. Paul saw immediately and said something to Rachel, and then walked over to me to put his arms around me to ward me from the chill. I hugged him back and smiled up at him. "So. I've been thinking."

"Yeah? What about?" he asked, smiling back at me. He smiled a lot more easily than he had when we first met. That was something I'd done for him.

"This whole wedding thing. It seems like it's pretty fun. I think we should have one of our own. Maybe in ten months or so?"

For a minute, he went immobile, dark eyes searching my face in the fading sunlight. Whatever he saw must have reassured him, because he lifted me off my feet and crushed his mouth to mine, kissing me so hard that I was dizzy from lack of oxygen in a matter of seconds. I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave as good as I got until the (were)wolf-whistles grew too loud to ignore.

"Take it off!" Quil shouted, at the same time Embry yelled, "Get a room, perverts!" I pulled away to glare at them.

"Let's get out of here," I said.

Paul nodded, lowered me back to the ground, and grabbed my hand. On our way, I blew a kiss to Jacob and Amanda, and patted Charlie on the shoulder. "Dad, Paul asked me to marry him and I said yes. See you at home."

He tilted his flask straight up and drained what was left before I lost sight of him.

I half-expected Paul to either drive me straight back home or back me up against the nearest tree and take me there, but he kept towing me through the woods until I was completely disoriented and giggling madly. "Where the hell are we going?" I asked finally.

He didn't answer, just paused long enough to scoop me up in his arms and start running—something he rarely did, since he knew I preferred to get to places at my own speed. I didn't want to quibble the point tonight, though, so I just wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed whatever I could reach.

Finally, he slowed, then stopped. I looked around, peering through the gathering gloom, until at last I realized—"This is the cliff!"

"Yeah," he said, holding me more tightly. "I figured—since this is where it all began—it'd be a good place for the next step to begin too."

I reached up to run my fingers through his hair, and then stroke the hard-edged features that could still be so tender when they looked at me. "Let me have the ring?"

He set me down carefully, and pulled the ring box from his pocket.

"I'll put it on," I said firmly, taking it from him and opening it. "Because this isn't about you talking me into anything. I want to marry you." I slid the ring on and splayed my fingers wide, holding it up and catching some of the last remaining rays from the sun, now below the horizon. I gave Paul a glance over my shoulder, already knowing what I would see because I could feel it pouring through our bond like a tsunami. There it was: barely suppressed excitement, painful in its intensity, at seeing his ring on my finger. So funny. Well, he couldn't help being half animal, even if he hadn't phased in four months. "What do you think?" I asked coyly, raising one eyebrow.

He swallowed, hard. "I probably shouldn't think that's so fucking hot, should I?"

I pretended to think it over. "Well, probably not." I reached behind me to the low zipper on my sundress and slowly drew it down. "You should think _this_ is fucking hot, though. In fact," I slid the shoulder straps off and stepped back out of the dress, leaving it in a puddle on the ground, "I'll be pretty disappointed if you don't."

He'd seen it all before, of course, on a near-daily basis (he'd pretty much meant it literally when he promised to fuck me every day for forever), including the shell-pink lingerie when I got dressed for the occasion, but familiarity didn't wipe the reverent look off his face. "God _damn_ , Isabella." His hands were already on the buttons of his shirt; he shrugged out of it, kicked off his shoes, and unbuttoned his pants at werewolf speed. I grinned at him as he got closer. Instead of picking me up, the way I half-expected, he went down on his knees in front of me, on the dress, which put my breasts on his eye level. His fingers moved under the edges of my bra, lifting the satin without removing it, which was just mean. Everywhere he touched he made my skin catch fire. I reached back to unhook it myself, but he stopped my hands with his own as he licked around the material. I gasped at the wet brush of heat and grabbed his shoulders. "Should we do a dramatic re-enactment of our first time? It'd probably be a lot more fun for you now than it was then." He fastened his teeth on my nipple through the fabric and sucked gently, sending a charge shooting through me that threatened to make my knees buckle.

With an effort, I managed to say, "I seem to remember having a pretty decent experience," and slid both hands to his head.

Paul snorted. "I think we can do a little better this time." He stood and kissed me, nibbling on my lips until I opened them. Our tongues brushed together and I clutched at him again. Paul chuckled against my mouth, clamping one arm around my back and one under my ass and lifting me. I entwined my legs around his waist. Carefully, he pushed my back against a tree—oh, so it would be the tree after all—keeping his hand between my skin and the tree bark while he nipped at my chin and jaw. "Jesus, Isabella. You're so fucking beautiful." He kept on biting, just hard enough to sting but not to mark, all the way down my neck. When he spoke again, the words came out rough, as if they'd fought to leave his throat. "I love you."

He hardly ever told me that. For the first year or so we'd been together, the words had frightened me. And after that, I didn't need to hear it to confirm his commitment to me. This time, though, it seemed he needed to say it.

He, on the other hand, needed to hear it a _lot_ , so I said it as often as possible. "I love you too," I answered, raking my nails across his shoulders. " _My_ Paul." He shivered—about time, he was way too in control for my tastes—shoved my underwear aside, and slid two fingers inside me all at once. "Oh, oh, oh . . . "

"So fucking hot, Isabella, so sweet," he murmured. His eyes were half-closed, watching his hand as his fingers plunged in and out of me. I loved putting that look on his face, loved being the one who could turn him rapt with longing. He pulled out, and replaced his fingers with his cock before I had a chance to complain, filling me all the way up with one not-particularly-gentle push. Oh _yes._

He stayed perfectly still for a second, while we both panted for breath, and then he drew back out, almost all the way, in slow motion. I whimpered, moving my hips, trying to get him to go faster, harder, but he just slid up again inch by inch. "Not so fast," he said, and did it again, and again, until I lost count, still at that excruciatingly deliberate pace. I could hardly breathe.

"I'm gonna die, swear to God, you're killing me," I whispered to him, barely able to keep my own eyes open. "This is so good."

Paul was shaking from head to toe, pressing his arm against the tree behind me and resting his forehead on it. He let his eyelids drift closed all the way as he slowly, slowly moved inside me. "Isabella," he moaned, and the helpless sound thrilled me because Paul almost never let himself get that vulnerable, even with me, the person he trusted above all others. "Mine, mine, mine."

I smiled at that and brushed the backs of the fingers of my left hand against his face. He groaned at my touch, or maybe it was the feel of the engagement ring against his skin. The sound pushed me just enough so that I fell to pieces around him, crying out and writhing while his arms drew even tighter around me and he finally moved faster.

When I could speak again, I leaned forward, still trembling a little, to lick his ear, and then whisper, "I love you. I'm _yours_ , Paul. _All_ yours."

Almost as if he'd been waiting for the words, he plunged into me as far as he could go on "yours" and stayed there, growling out my name while he throbbed inside me.

After a moment, I tried to let go and slide down, but he wouldn't let me. His hands clung to me and he buried his face in my hair. Every once in a while he did this after we made love, and I'd come to understand he was struggling for control, afraid to show me his face until he was sure his expression didn't give too much away. Silly boy, as if I didn't know everything already. I stroked his hair and kissed his cheek, waiting but not the least bit impatient.

At last, he let out a shaky sigh and reluctantly allowed me to put my feet on the ground again. I took one unsteady step, then another, and made a face. "Ew. I don't remember it being so messy last time we did it here." My panties were a lost cause. I went ahead and tugged them off.

"I'm pretty sure we were both in shock back then," he said with a grin. "You weren't in any shape to notice—Whoa. I got dirt _all over_ this dress. Sorry, babe." He shook it out, but the marks where his knees had rested were probably going to stay permanently embedded in the blue.

I took it from him and put it on anyway. "Think we can sneak back to the truck without anyone seeing us?"

"Not a chance in hell," he answered, shrugging into his shirt. He didn't bother buttoning it before pulling his underwear and pants back on.

Wadding up my underwear in my hand, I wandered to the edge of the cliff and looked down. It was too dark to really see anything of the water except its motion against the rocks.

"Goddamn it, Isabella, move the fuck back. That's too close." Paul's hand fastened around my upper arm and yanked me back. His heart beat so hard I could feel it against my head.

I turned to hug him and rub his back. "It's okay. It's okay. Don't be scared."

After a second, his grip loosened. "Sorry. I just—I just got you to agree to marry me, and—"

"And now it seems like something bad has to happen to balance it out?" I snuggled into him.

He laughed and hugged me. "Yeah. Kind of."

"I think sometimes things start going right and then they just keep on getting better for a while. I mean, my life's gotten better and better since the day you imprinted."

He was silent for a long moment. Finally he said hoarsely, "Yeah. Mine too."

"So come on." I grabbed his hand, tugging him back to the edge with me. "I don't want to walk all the way back through the woods. Let's jump. Dramatic re-enactment, right? Can't forget the end. Well, except for the vampire in the water. We can leave that part out."

Paul's eyes widened, and then he grinned. "You want to?"

Raising his fingers to my mouth, I kissed them. "Yeah. You can see in the dark; it's not like it's any more of a challenge to keep me safe now than it would be during the day, right?"

"Even if it was, I'd still do it." He tilted our hands, looking at the engagement ring. "Make sure you put your fingers in a fist. You don't want that thing coming off in the water."

Obediently, I turned the diamond inward to my palm and clenched my fingers closed. "I'll keep it safe. I promise."

He asked, still gazing at the ring, "You sure about this?"

I looked up at him with a smile and replied, "I'm sure about _you_." I put my right hand in his. "Let's go."

Together, we launched ourselves off the cliff edge and into freefall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is "Cliff Diving" by +44. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Song for Chapter One: "A Subtle Dagger" by Thrice


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